


The Many Faces of John Watson

by Here_for_tomorrow



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Artistic License Used, Dissociative Identity Disorder, M/M, Mental Health Issues, not accurate but thats okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-01
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2017-12-10 01:41:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 65,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/780307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Here_for_tomorrow/pseuds/Here_for_tomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slight AU John suffers from MPD or multiple personality disorder. He shares a body with three other personalities: Janet, Chad, and Matt. So far, he's been pretty good at keeping it a secret by living a solitary life and communicating with others only when the need be. But what will happen when he starts to grow feelings for a strange but intriguing man he meets? Johnlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. im new at this, so please bear with me. i have no idea how to add a line between things

John finished fixing the knot of his expensive black tie, trying to copy the instructions Janet was telling him. He sighed, moving the tie back and forth, trying to get it to that "perfect spot".

'Like that really exist,' he sighed mentally.

'I heard that,' Janet said, deciding to move John's hands to do it herself. 'If you don't like the way I tell you how to dress, especially after you asked me, then don't ask me for my help in the future,' she said half heartily. She stepped back and let John take over.

"It's not that. I'm just wondering why I have to be the one going out to this event tonight. Isn't my social life usually your job?"

'It usually is, but you have to meet these people and socialize with them. At least so that you are familiar with names and faces. You don't want a repeat of the incident with Sam.'

Sam was a "friend" and classmate of John who seemed to suddenly decide that she wanted to stick to John as close as she could. The only problem was that John had no idea who the hell this person was. When she decided to randomly show up at his flat to "study", he threatened to call the police on her for stalking. It was when she was half way down the street crying, Janet had told him he had just run off his best female friend. Since then, it had been mandatory for all personalities to learn important or frequent friends and colleagues.

"It's not my fault she just randomly showed up at my flat to study. You should have warned me about the people you classify as my classmates and friends."

'That's why we're doing this tonight. You meet a few people, you get an award, you get to have fun.'

"You know I'm not going to talk to anyone. I'm not the conversation personality."

'At least make an effort. Who knows who you meet.'

John made a doubtful face in the mirror.

'Who knows what might happen tonight. Maybe you'll even take someone home...'

John rolled his eyes but smiled.

"Not likely to happen. Who would take me home; someone who shares a body with three other people."

'Just...at least try to forget about us tonight.'

"As if I can really forget about you guys in there. If you're not talking to me directly, your influences surround me. Just look at this white suit."

'Why would Matt even choose this to wear?' Janet asked, wrinkling her nose.

"I think it's to get back at me for refusing to wear that choker last week. Good thing you could dress it up."

'John, you must remember that this is my body too. If you look bad, I look bad. If I look bad, no one's happy.'

John laughed and straightened out his suit before turning towards the full length mirror. He liked the black trimmings around the edges and pockets that threw off some of the blandness of the all-white suit. That was the thing that bothered him the most. He wasn't sure if he could keep the white three-piece suit clean throughout the night. The color made him anxious and uneasy.

'Relax, John. You're going to tense yourself up over unimportant details.'

"I don't know if I can do it,' John said with a frown. "What if I screw something up or freeze? People will think of me badly or not take me seriously. I can be the laughing stock of my whole class. Of all of my sponsors."

Johns eyes grew wide as he started to hyperventilate at all of the worst possible scenarios.

'JOHN!' Janet snapped. 'Look, I promise you, if I believe that you are in serious need of me or Chad, we will step in,' she said in a long-suffering and frustrated tone. 'I assure you.'

John sat down and put his head between his knees. As he tried to control his breathing, he nodded, feeling a little better.

He sat up and looked at himself in the full- length mirror. "Alright. I can do this. Yeah, I'll be fine. Sorry, Janet, and thank you."

'It's fine. Just, don't talk to any of us in the public setting. I'll make sure Matt is behaved and won't bother you tonight. Alright?'

John took a couple of deep breathes. "Yes, okay. I'm ready. Let's get this thing over with."

'That's...kind of the spirit. Have fun. At least try to meet someone.'

"Again, no promises," he laughed, "but thanks. I'll...talk to you later? or something...yeah."

'Just go John,' she sighed, exasperated.

John got up, dusted off his suit, and grabbed his keys before making his way to the Surgeon's Sponsor Night.

Just as John guessed, he ended up in the corner next to the drink table. There had been a few people that had come up to him (apparently friends?), but he shied them off; not really connecting with them like he was known to do. The white suit also seemed to be an invite for many interested party members to try to come and chat him up. They also got the same treatment, getting the message that he interested.

He sighed and took another sip from his drink, suspicious that he might be a tad bit tipsy. Not that he minded much. He didn't care enough about the people here to give them his best impression.

People eyed him as they walked by, but no one knew made any move to approach him or try to council him about his drinking.

'John, pull yourself together. You're supposed to be trying!' Janet whispered angrily to him. He snorted.

"And I told you that I wouldn't be good at it," he said aloud before thinking.

'Shh...!' she shouted. 'John. You're not supposed to talk to me.' John nodded. 'Okay... stand up straight,' she said as John complied, 'dust yourself off,' he did so, 'and don't scare off the man who has been staring at you for the last minute and is now making his way over here.'

"Wait, what?!" he asked, shocking himself sober.

A tall, thin man, well dressed man made his way over and stood before him with a nice, pearly white smile.

"Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself.  


 

Sherlock had received a tip that a rogue doctor has had a number of "accidental deaths" recently was attending this ceremony tonight. He had limited down the culprits to a group of surgeons who worked at the same time these "accidental deaths" had happened. So, for the last hour, he had been gathering information from the crowd of doctors and surgeons about their classmates and predecessors.

He was confident he had come to the right conclusion on who the killer was; he was just waiting for the opportune time to announce his conclusion and deductions. He wasn't sure how the man would act, so he thought he'd play it low key and subtly approach him. He had to wait, though, until the detective inspector and his cronies arrived in case he did something irrational.

He saw a young man in a white off-black suit standing next a drink table. Not too far behind him, his suspect stood, talking to another college in the corner. He decided he needed to stick as close as he could to the suspect without spooking him off.

He walked up to the (he had to admit) handsome looking man. He would have thought that it would seem weird to wear such a contrasting suit (compared to everyone's black suits), but it only made to highlight his features and make him stand out from the crowd in a way that worked for him.

He wasn't surrounded by any one and seemed completely oblivious to the fake red-head in a dangerously low-cut black dress eyeing him like he was candy. He didn't seem too interactive with anyone here, yet, he had to have spent his earlier adult life with his colleagues in this line of work. Was there a story here? It didn't seem as if anyone in the room was against him, and no one spoke hushed words about him. Something must have been…different about him tonight. Interesting….

The man's eyes grew wide as he approached. He wondered if it would be best to forget trying to talk to him, but as he got closer, the man quickly downed the rest of his drink he was holding and steeled himself for Sherlock's arrival.

Sherlock wondered if he was almost as [nervous?] as he was. He scoffed at the disgusting human emotion, but couldn't helped but feel intrigued by this person.

_Tie- "perfect" Windsor knot. Woman's influence._  
 _Suit- most likely a slightly older man influence his clothing choices. Obviously forced to wear it. Woman re-decorated it._ _Most likely a revenge thing._  
 _Squared shoulders and give off an air of maturity. Army influence. Short term. Another older man, but more mature. More brother figure than friend._

_No connection between any of these people, but there has to be something that connects them somewhere. Not rich, so they're not servant, but neither are they friends. No disabilities that requires him to have anyone dress him._

_No conclusive data._

_A mystery. Interesting._

Sherlock put on his least intimidating smile as he stood in front of this new mystery.

"Sherlock Holmes."


	2. A Murderer Among Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please feel free to leave a comment. Comments are the only way a writer can know if they are reaching their audience.
> 
> So. John has three other personalities that influence his daily life...
> 
> Janet: Only girl personality. Controls all Mathematics and Education that John needs to know. A little advanced in these subjects. She also controls his social life, so all of "John's" friends are actually her friends and acquiescence. also chooses style. She's second oldest, but feels the most trapped. Cannot indulge in her Girly fantasies.
> 
> Chad: The oldest and most mature out of all the Personalities. He's the piece maker and is an older influence for John. Mature and wise.
> 
> Matt: The bad personality. decides What to wear, but doesn't have complete style control. Controls John's anger and is always waiting for a weak spot to shove John out the way and become dominant trait for a while. Most monitored personality. has a tendency to lash out over do things.
> 
> John: Dominant personality. Sweet, shy, and rather allow another personality to deal with a stressful situation than stand up and take care of it himself. Only feels completely safe if he knows his Personalities have his back. 3 years in the army.. troubled pass. Doesn't want to make effort to know others so they don't hurt him. keeps his MPD a secret.
> 
> within his head, the personalities know what each other look like and can see each other, but its mostly dream like. they can venture into any parts of their head and even have their own "rooms".

### A Murderer Among Us

At first, John felt a bit more confident that he could hold a conversation with this man if he quickly downed the rest if his drink, but it only seemed to make things worse. His drunk goggles only made the man seen even more intimidating-ly handsome and he fumbled over any words that he wanted to say.

His tall stature made him shrink back, uncomfortable at the close proximity. He hated when people were close enough to easily harm you.

He tried to keep his face neutral and was impressed when his voice barely squeaked.

"John Watson," he said in a forced nonchalant tone. Internally, he was screaming.

'Please, someone help me! I cannot do this! Aborting conversation immediately!'

'John, you're doing fine, calm down. You don't need my help. Be...as much of yourself as you are.' Janet said, giving him a pep talk and a mental pat on his shoulders.

John took a deep breath and nodded.

The man across from him raised a perfectly arched, skeptical eyebrow at him.

'Shit,' John thought and winced. He had done something odd again. He looked behind him at the drink table.

"Ehh...drink?" he asked, holding up a glass.

"Thanks," Sherlock said, reaching behind him to grab a different one, "but I think I'll actually need a full one instead of your empty one."

John looked down at his empty cup he had been drinking out of earlier. He turned a deep shade of crimson from embarrassment, which brought a chuckle from the man in front of him.

'Oh, God! What did I tell you? He's laughing at me right in front of my face. I told you they would. I knew this would happen!'

'John, darling, calm down. He's just being charmed by you. Does it seem like he's laughing at you or they way you're acting?'

'Um... Well, I'm still out if my depth here, so if you could...'

'Nope. You're doing great. Keep up the good work and try to smooth over the rough edges,'

He bit off a sigh, not wanting Sherlock to feel as if he was boring him. In actuality, Sherlock was scanning John's movements and actions to try to get anymore information out of him. He couldn't, for the life of him, figure out why John seemed so closed in on himself and seemed to want to shrink away from him. Yet, why stay? Of course he seemed as intrigued about getting to know Sherlock as Sherlock was about getting to know him, but surely Sherlock wasn't frightening. Intimidating, maybe. Frightening, no. Usually, Sherlock would mark him off as anti-social or selective about interactions, but he didn't fit into any of those categories.

A small silence settled over them, and Sherlock could feel waves of awkwardness rolling off of John. He tried to think of a plan that could relax John and allow him to secretly extract more information without his knowledge. Maybe he could start with what normal people called _small talk_...

"So, how long were you in the army?"

John's eyes dramatically widened at Sherlock's direction as he started to become confused and panicked.

"Do I know you?!" John demanded, double checking with all personalities if they had remembered him. No one knew anything about this man.

'Shit!' Sherlock cursed himself for being counterproductive.

"I can say I have positively never met you in my entire life," he said, trying for a calm tone.

"Then you have been stalking me!" Other party members surrounding them turned to give disapproving glares at the pair. Sherlock saw his suspect look over towards him, giving him a hard stare, before turning back to his conversation.

"No," he said in a forced whisper as to not attract anymore members. Did most of the human race really have to be so stupid? "I've observed the information from your body language and your presentation. I deduced you."

John gave him a skeptical look, discussing it with his other personalities if he should believe him or not.

'Crap, how could I possible screw this up so bad. You're suppose to make him feel comfortable, not try to drive him off. Great, you probably just lost your new experiment.' Sherlock thought, mentally scolding himself.

"That...was actually pretty impressive," John said after a while.

Sherlock looked at John, stunned, not believing he wasn't actually running away in fear. "What?" he asked in a little more than a whisper.

"...Given that someone may think of you as a stalker, it's pretty neat that you can look at someone and know something about them. Can you do that for anyone?"

Sherlock couldn't understand the enthusiasm and genuine curiosity coming from John. He never had someone actually accept his "quirk" (as the more moderate people liked to call it.)

"Yes, I can. It's not very hard. Almost everyone does it subconsciously, but are too idiotic to come to the correct conclusion. They always come up with extravagant answers that aren't based on the evidence provided," he explained, taking a sip from his drink.

'Hold on! Did he really just call you _stupid_ , Johnny Boy?'. Matt shouted, making his presence know to John. 'Are you really going to put up with this posh-ass wanker telling _you_ that you are stupid?' demanded Matt. 'Let me take care of him. Wouldn't a nice black eye tell him not to disrespect you like that again?'

John frowned at the thought of Sherlock telling him that he was stupid in front of his face. Was he really...

'Shut up, Matt. John has this handled. Leave him alone and get back into your "room",' Janet demanded.

Matt growled at her, but did as he was told. Janet moved back into her own space.

Sherlock looked over the rim to subtly look at his suspect but was met with a frown from his talking companion. He mentally went back over the conversation in his head and sighed. He had said something he shouldn't have... _again_.

"Don't take what I said personally. Almost everybody is idiotic. That just makes everyone _normal_ apparently."

John's frown slightly disappeared, but there was still hints of it playing at the corners of his lips.

In the corner of his eye, Sherlock saw the Detective Inspector of New Scotland Yard on the far side of the auditorium. Sherlock frowned. If he left now, there would be no doubt that he wouldn't be able to talk to John again; possibly forever. Asking for his number and address would be too forward and could make him uncomfortable again. He's also pretty sure that if he randomly shows up at John's flat, John will think he actually does stalk him.

But looking over John's shoulder, he could see the doctor become fidgety as he sees the police officers come in. He knows he's about to bolt any second now. There has to be a way for him to be able to still talk to John after and catch this culprit.

"Actually," he says, putting down his empty drinking glass and looks toward John, "I use deductions for my job. I am a Consulting Detective, currently working on a case right now."

"Oh?!" John said, definitely interested in what Sherlock was saying. "I knew you weren't here just for the fun of it."

Sherlock was momentarily thrown off guard. "How do you mean."

"No one would leave their such a date away this long without risk of losing him. Therefore, you must be here for other reasons."

Sherlock gave John a genuine smile. Maybe not everyonewas as stupid as he was lead to believe.

John didn't flinch as Sherlock's face came closer to his. He almost felt… _comfortable_ as Sherlock leaned in to whisper in his ear, as if he'd done it thousands of times.

"Yes...and I'm about to catch a murderer really soon." Sherlock smirked, having broken down John's awkward barrier.

John eyes grew wide and felt a shiver go down his back. He could feel the adrenaline course through his veins at the prospect of danger lurking nearby.

It was better than any pick up line he had ever heard.

"Would you, John," he said, lowering his voice to a seductive purr, "do me the honor of accompanying me on a small chase? We can finish our talk at my place after."

John felt his heart rate speed up and his breathing become heavier as the baritone voice sent vibrations though his body. He wanted to immediately say yes, but he couldn't think with all the voices and arguments going on in his head.

He looked into Sherlock's eyes; reveling at their closeness. He momentarily became lost in his eyes, noticing they seemed to be infinite in their depth.

Sherlock frowned, wondering if he took his seductive plan too far. He could tell by the look on John's face that he wanted to melt into his arms, but every now and then, a minute twitch would tell of a thought going through John's head.

"W-would you excuse me for just a moment? I need to...look at something in the bathroom."

Sherlock looked over John's shoulder and could tell the doctor was about to run.

"I can only spare a few seconds at most..."

"I'll only be a few seconds, I swear," John said, quickly walking off to the direction of the bathroom.

He walked into a deserted hall where he knew no one would hear him.

"Would you guys _please_ shut up. I'm trying to actually socialize for once."

'John, think this through. Do you really think this is wise to go out with this guy who is chasing after a _murderer?'_ Chad asked.

'Psshh... Johnny Boy here knows how to take care of himself. Remember, he was an _army man...'_ Matt jumped in.

'Matt, you know we don't speak of _those_ specific years.'

'No matter. Think of the adventure, John. The excitement that you'll get to experience. You know even you miss the adrenaline rush. This man is just _handing_ you a chance to regain something you lost.'

"I sort of do...want to" he said shyly, as if stating his opinion will cause someone to come out and deny him happiness. "Janet...what do you think I should do?"

Janet dramatically fanned herself, replaying the last conversation John had with Sherlock. 'Anything that has to do with that voice and body...I'm on board.'

'Stop it you two! Can you not see the danger behind your own selfish desires? John, you can get seriously hurt. What kind of date takes someone on a chase for a murderer? How long do you expect to stay with this person after the adrenaline and lust have worn off? Will he even _want_ to stay with you? Take the safe road and _go home,'_

John frowned but nodded. He knew Chad was right. He always thought everything through and never turned John in the wrong direction.

'Yeah. You're right, Chad. I'll tell him I'm sick or something.'

John heard sighing and moaning from the other two, but wouldn't change his mind. _Couldn't_ change his mind. He knew once Sherlock found whatever he was interested in getting tonight, he would drop him and forget about him. He didn't seem like the type of person who had time for people below him. People exactly like John. And, John was pretty confident he would get over someone like that too...he hoped. Maybe, though he did seem unique. How could he forget about someone with such a massive brain and look the way he did? He was sure they were being made in a special genetics laboratory somewhere. Humans weren't naturally born with such features.

As he walked back towards the auditorium, he collided with someone who had quickly turned the corner and didn't see him. They both tumbled to the floor, but the man was quickly back on his feet and running towards the exit before John could apologize.

"Catch him, John!" a familiar voice called from behind John.

John looked towards the entrance and saw Sherlock quickly sprinting towards him. His curls bounced behind him as he ran and his eyes gleamed at just the thought if chasing this man throughout the dark London streets. John just knew he had to go. Have to achieve that wonderful feeling of adrenaline and weightlessness the Sherlock was currently feeling now; and he knew he could attain it if he followed this man.

"That's our culprit!"

Without second thought, John was chasing the man down the hall and out the building.


	3. Switch in Personalities

John loved the feeling of the concrete hitting the soles of his shoes as he chased down a possible murderer. The doctor made a right turn quickly down the side of an alley leading to a main street. John knew if he didn't catch the man before he reached it, then he would be lost in the Friday night dinner crowd.

Behind him, John could hear Sherlock trying to catch up. John knew he was too far behind to be able to surpass him and get their suspect. It was all up to John, and he knew he would catch this man if it was the last thing he did.

'Stop, John. Stop now!' Chad demanded. 'You can still turn back before anything bad happens!'

"Sherlock's counting on me," John panted, increasing his speed. "This is the first exciting person...I've met...in a long time...," he said, exhausted. He could see he was close to the suspect now, though, and wouldn't slow down. The alley would end soon.

'That's it Johnny! Go get him! Can I tackle him, please... let me tackle him...' Matt begged.

John bit his lip. He debated if he was really the one fit to tackle this man. What if he did something where it required him to use force... He wasn't a fighter. He was the flight type of guy.

"Just, don't go overboard..." he warned.

He allowed Matt to become dominant, but closely monitored him in case he needed to step back in the dominant position again.

Matt chased the subject to the conclusion of the alleyway, internally humming his own theme song the whole time; inciting eye rolls from the other three personalities. Just as the suspect turned leave the alley, Matt tackled him to the ground.

They tumbled onto the sidewalk and rolled into the skip. A couple of people stopped and watched as the man tried to throw John off and run again. His fist connected with the side of John's stomach, enabling him to throw his weight off of his back.

'Damn it!' Matt cursed loudly before tackling the man again. "Stay down you stupid little-"

'Watch it!' John warned.

"What? He is," he grunted as his hair was pulled. "Can you not see what this wimp is doing to try to win the fight. Fights like a stupid _girl_!"

"Get off me, you fucking psycho! Who the fuck are you talking too?"

"You little fucker!" Matt shouted, retaliating a punch to the man's face.

The man's hands came up to surround John's throat. He wrapped his legs around his waist and flipped them over till he was straddling John and continued to choke him.

John's hands came up to try to pry off the doctor's fingers from his throat. He could feel a sliver of panic mix with the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"See what you...always get us into...Matt," he choked. "Please...stop, Sir."

"If you weren't about to die, I'd recommend you to a psychiatrist. Man, you have some serious fucked up mental issues."

"Fuck you very much!" Matt choked angrily, and glared at the man.

"Shut up...Matt!" John choked at him as the images around him became blurred and started to fade.

### 

Sherlock quickly sprinted around the corner of the alley to catch up with John. He hoped John wasn't as useless like most people were and was able to subdue the man before he could lose him in the crowd.

Sherlock reached the end of the alley and looked both ways before spotting John wrestling with the murderer a little off to the right. He saw the man straddling John as he choked him, not caring about the surrounding witnesses too stupid to do anything to stop him. Couldn't they see that Sherlock's important experiment needed help?

As Sherlock ran over to the two, he could see two different expressions randomly cross his face. One moment, John would be fearful and begging for his life to be spared, then, the next moment, he would be angry, cussing, and lashing out. As he started to lose consciousness, he heard John call out a name.

' _Matt_ '.He saved that thought for further analysis for another time.

Sherlock jumped on the doctor's back and pulled the man's weight back, trying to demobilize him in a sleeper hold on his back. He heard John sputter and cough as air tried to invade John's lungs too fast. He rolled to the recovery position and rubbed his sore windpipe.

The man rolled until he was on all fours with Sherlock laying across his back, trying to keep his hold on the man. The man elbowed him in his diaphragm and pushed upward, forcing the air out of his lungs. Sherlock fell on his back, trying to recover when the man turned to try to choke him.

'Useless NSY. Where the hell are they when you actually need them?' Sherlock thought to himself.

He saw a blond arm wrap around the man's neck. Sherlock blocked the man's nose and mouth. He felt his the man try to force oxygen past his hand. He saw John press various pressure points before he felt the man stiffen and slump onto the pavement.

They sat back, panting, and looked at the unconscious man. It was only then that John could get a good look at his face.

"You know him." Sherlock panted.

"Yes," John answered even though he knew Sherlock wasn't asking it as a question. "Alumni. Well liked and respected."

"Drug addict. Couldn't handle all the stress and hours. Turned to drugs to stay up and working. Usually under the influence when working. Caused four accidents during surgery that could have been avoided if sober," Sherlock told him his deductions.

"Did you deduce that now, or did you find out earlier."

"Deduced him before even shaking his hand. Knew I had my murderer. Everyone is typically an open book... Well almost everyone. You just have to know how to read them."

John slightly frowned but didn't get to ask any more questions as New Scotland Yard finally arrived. One that seemed like the head of the team stood directly in front of them.

"Ahh...the useless cavalry has arrived. Good thing I had this man's help. You would have another crime scene and no murderer. At least I had a competent companion this time."

There were sneered and angry whispers from the officers behind them. The detective inspector looked over his shoulder and shouted to his team.

"Go section off this area and control this crowd. We have a few things to go over and you know we can't take him in until we have circumstantial evidence and reasoning to charge him for a crime."

He turned back to the now standing pair and crossed his arms over his chest.

"We told you to wait or inform us of your plans. Not try to approach the subject and cause him to panic."

"He was about to bolt anyway. I thought that if I was at least a few feet from him, if he took off, I could easily subdue him."

"And your companion here?" the inspector asked, pointing John him.

"Right place at the right time. Extreme help and the person who just caught your murderer."

"I want a name, Sherlock, a full name," he sighed, exasperated.

"I can actually speak, you know. If you want my name you could have just asked," John said, annoyed at the DI for ignoring him.

"But my friend here chooses to use his right of to remain silent without the presence of a lawyer!," Sherlock quickly interjected.

John frowned at Sherlock. He seemed to be doing that a lot recently. He wondered if this was going to be a reoccurring theme.

'Don't get ahead of yourself, John. You don't know how long you'll be with this guy; could be for only another minute or three days for all you know. There is still something I don't like about this guy,' Chad said quietly.

"Look, Lestrade. My friend has been out all night running around, chasing _your_ bad guy. Can you at least let us go for tonight and fill out paperwork another night?"

"It's best if it's settled as quickly as possible, Sherlock," Lestrade said, frowning.

'I guess this _is_ a reoccurring theme for this person,' John sighed mentally.

"Fine, but I want you to personally escort this man into custody. We will talk to some other officer for our statements."

The DI looked skeptical, but agreed. He turned around and walked over to a relatively new officer.

"Come on, John," Sherlock whispered and tugged on his dirty suit sleeve.

He knew he couldn't have kept it clean, but it still seemed such a shock for it to be so dirty. "We need to subtly, but quickly, make our way to the caution tape. If we pass that, then we can get away without having to spend half the night at NSY."

The pair walked towards the caution tape, trying not to attract too much attention. Sherlock had just held up the caution tape for John to go under when he heard it. The words that made his skin crawl.

"Hey you! Weirdo, freak, whatever any other name they call you. Stop right there!"

### 

John stiffened at the words he had the most felt the fear of. He quickly shrank in on himself like it would protect him from them. He was pretty sure they were directed at him.

'I'll handle this, John,' Chad told him softly, placing assuring hand on his mental shoulder.

John softly nodded and stood back for Chad to become dominant.

An early 30 year old-looking male officer approached the pair with a look of superiority in his face. He didn't really fit the bill, but whatever he wanted to do to seem confident was right, Chad guessed. He would give him a stern talking to, though, that would crush that feeling of over powering others just because they weren't officers of law or carry a gun.

"Where is it you guys seem to be off to?" he asked.

"I have to get something out of our cab over there," Sherlock lied, pointing to a random cab.

"Hey, I've heard about the last time you did something like that, okay?" he said, raising his voice for an authoritative tone. "I'm not stupid to fall for something like that and I will arrest you for lying to an officer!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to let out a string of deductions about this "smart" officer when John spoke up ahead of him.

"Excuse me, officer," Chad said, using a fatherly, army-learned commanding tone. "First off, how dare you call someone that has just helped you do your job such a degrading title? He has a name, use it. Secondly, I know you're new to this line of work, but they must have taught you _something_ about respect and etiquette. This is your senior- no matter by how many years. You _talk_ to him with _respect_. You start every conversation with _sir_ you end every conversation with _sir_ ," Chad calmly but in a threatening manner. "Do I make myself clear?" He received a nod. "Now, presentation wise...You are supposed to be a representative of this city and it's laws; therefore you are to act like such. Stop slouching and stand up straight. Chin up and look forward, and I better not hear you raise your voice at another person unless it's to get their attention." Chad circled the officer slowly, admiring his work in getting the officer in army ready form. "Do I make myself clear?" Chad asked, stopping in front of him in John's old army captain rest form.

"Yes," the cadet said, this voice wobbling a little.

"Yes, _WHAT?!_ " Chad demanded, using his loud, captain voice.

"Sir yes, Sir!" the officer responded dutifully.

"At ease, then. Now...," Chad said, thinking of an excuse to enable them to get out of there. "Go get our stuff out of the cab. We'll wait here for you to return."

"Sir yes, Sir," he officer said and ran off to the taxi.

"Thanks, Chad," he murmured softly so only he could hear.

'You're welcome, John.' He allowed John to dominate and went back to his own space. 'Call if you need anything else,' he said over his figurative shoulder.

A small, shy smile played over John's face. He was always appreciative for someone like Chad.

Sherlock could see John shrink in on himself as the officer called him. He seemed like he wanted to disappear and couldn't handle something so minute like someone calling him a mean name.

Sherlock was about to question John if he was alright when suddenly, the air changed around him. He was no longer tense and hunched in on himself: instead, he seemed confident and composed. He was older, angry, but handled it like someone who knew the correct way to deal with these sort of situations.

_mood swings. So far, three main mood swings changes John to three different characters._   
_-"angry John": John uses violence and/or curses heavily. Younger, more young adult like spirit. Always ready for a fight. Who is Matt?_   
_-"normal/shy John": John's unsure of himself. Takes a lot work to get him to open up. Kind, not too social. Doesn't like arguments, can't handle being called names. Insecure._   
_-"army John": wise, handles anger well. Defender. Mature. Handles situations well. Who is Chad?_

_Data inconclusive. Need more data and time to process thoughts. To be done later._

Sherlock had these stream of deductions going through his head as he watched John put the young officer in his place. He cocked his head to the side, impressed with this side of John. He watched as the officer's retreating back caused "army John" slowly turned back to "normal John". He couldn't wait to get back to his flat to try to figure this person out. It would also be a good place to test his "John" experiments in a controlled environment.

He watched as the officer walked up to "their" cab. He quickly turned back to John and grabbed his hand.

"Think you can run 13 blocks to my place?"

John looked down at their conjoined hands and felt like he couldn't breathe- in a good way. He felt the adrenaline rush again and looked up at Sherlock's face.

"You bet I can," he said, excited, and couldn't wait to go.

He stepped under the tape and saw the officer's confused face as he spoke to the cabbie. The officer quickly turned around, knowing he had been had and shouted into his talkie-walkie.

John felt Sherlock's hand tug him forward as they sprinted away from the crime scene.


	4. To Hide the Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to... explicit[sex wise]. its more of a personal comfort issue of writing actual words such as cock and such that may make it seem lacking. So, if its not usually your thing, you can try it, or skip it. i completely understand either way. i'll slightly spoil next chapter by saying its partially sexual manipulation.

### 

When they finally reached their destination, John let go of Sherlock's hand and rested both of his on his knees. He waited; panting as Sherlock unlocked the door and allowed them both in. When the door was shut and they were both inside of his flat, John couldn't but laugh. All in the course of one night, he had met an interesting man, chased down a murderer with said man, and had run from the cops to this man's house. And he said he didn't want to come out tonight...

Sherlock looked at John sideways, wondering why he was so giddy. He knew what was going through his mind; it was probably just the added adrenaline that was pushing him over the edge.

In the corner of his eye, Sherlock spotted what looked like a small scar trailing down John's ear and hid under his shirt collar. He leaned in closer, hoping it may give him another clue on how to deduce John.

John wiped his eyes and tried to calm down. He turned to explain what he found so funny to Sherlock when he noticed the younger man's face was slowly making his way towards his.

John's heart pounded, knowing now was the time to accept or decline. For once, his head was totally silent. He really wanted to keep company with this man and find out what made him so fascinating, but he wasn't sure if Sherlock would want that if he gave him what he thought he'd want tonight. He hoped Sherlock didn't just bring him back to his apartment just to bed him. There was a small part of him, though, that did wonder what a consulting detective felt like. Was he smooth? Was he warm? What did he taste like? Questions kept popping up in his head; questions he needed to know the answer to.

John would swear until he turned blue in the face that it was the high from the chase and the adrenaline in his veins that made him do what he did. Without a second thought, John surged forwards the rest of the distance until their lips connected.

Sherlock was shocked at the initial contact with John's lips on his. He was concentrating on his new find so hard, he missed the mental storm brewing in John's head that lead him to where he was now; with John's soft, gently lips moving against his.

He felt something wet and solid move across his lower lip, causing him to gasp; allowing an opportunity for John's tongue to invade his mouth. It was solid and firm and seemed to want to bring unfamiliar sounds from Sherlock's mouth when it connected with his own tongue. Sherlock felt soft, but firm arms circle around his waist and hold him in a comfortable embrace.

Sherlock's head was spinning from the lack of oxygen and all the competing senses of pleasure. He wasn't certain where this would lead, but if it made John want to stay so he could study him, Sherlock would try to do whatever John had in mind. Maybe it will be useful for future cases.

John swallowed all sounds coming from Sherlock, not totally sure if they were good sounds or not. Actually, he wasn't sure if he was doing anything right and if he would (or could) meet all of Sherlock's expectations for the night. He was sure he didn't want to go all the way, but he didn't want to end with just this kiss. Maybe a snog and a little pawing would suffice John's needs for tonight. He didn't want to take any of his clothes off whatsoever, though.

Sherlock's knees hit the edge of the couch, not sure when they had backed toward it. He moved his arms to encircle John's neck and pulled him down so that John straddled his hips after he sat.

"Am I doing this right?" John asked in a small, insecure voice.

"If you aren't, I'd hate to see what the right way is..."

John gave him a small smile and connected their lips again. His smile grew wider when he was immediately allowed to enter Sherlock's mouth again.

'I...guess I can understand the pleasure behind kissing; it's not just a detestable show of emotions...even though there is still no scientific need,' Sherlock thought to himself.

John trailed a long line of kisses down Sherlock's jaw to his neck and found an infatuation with his shoulder. He'd break every other kiss with a small nip and loved the feel of Sherlock's deep moans traveling up his throat.

"John..." Sherlock moaned. Sherlock looked at the slightly older man on top of him with lustful eyes. Said eyes grew wide in shock when John shifted, causing him to feel the his own erection brush against his leg. "Goodness, John," he purred as his shirt was pulled out of his trousers and firm, weather-beaten hands mapped out their own plans on his skin.

His hips subconsciously bucked up, and he let out moan when he found out he wasn't the only with sporting an erection. He heard the soft whisper of plastic escaping cotton as his buttons were released from their cotton grip.

John couldn't help but moan at the sight of Sherlock's creamy white skin that lay underneath his tight, probably blood restricting shirt. It was no wonder he could sport an erection so fast. His waist and the southern region of his body most likely never got any blood. He felt Sherlock's hands caress his cheeks as they moved it to connect their lips once more.

Somewhere in his lust induced haze, Sherlock's attic screamed for data; data wondering why John was able to take off his shirt and feel his skin, but why wasn't his own shirt off? He needed to change that immediately.

Sherlock shifted and moved them so that he could gently lay John on his back on the cushions of the couch. He slid his hands up and down the sides of John's body, wondering if he wanted to go for the shirt first or give John release from his restricting pants.

Sherlock pushed John's dirty suit jacket from his shoulders before re-routing to his buttons.

John was momentarily dejected from his lust filled brain by Sherlock trying to undo his buttons. He quickly took hold of his hands and moved them down to his pants before grabbing onto the man's hips and falling back into the haze. He pulled Sherlock's hips down to his and a loud, pornographic moan was ripped from his body at the contact.

Sherlock made quick work of John's trouser buttons but was met with resistance as he tried to pull them down.

He released his hold on John's lips, pretty sure they were killing a few brain cells from the lack of oxygen. He stared into John's fully blown pupils with a small pout.

"Don't you trust me?"

John frowned and started to feel a bit uncomfortable at such a serious question. "I barely met you... How am I supposed to know if I can trust you. Plus, how do you know this is all about trust or not?"

Sherlock quickly saw the signs of John shutting him out. "I just want to see you, John," Sherlock said, softly rubbing John's chest.

"I'm...just not comfortable with my taking off my articles of clothing," he panted softly and looked straight into Sherlock's eyes. 'It's because of all of the scars...the scars that keep you living in the past,' he told himself mentally. "Is that okay?" he asked softly.

Sherlock was too far gone to answer any question or even think of an argument on why John needed to lose his clothing, too. He gave him a quick nod.

"Thank you," John said softly, guiding Sherlock's hand underneath the band of his pants to his member underneath. They moaned in unison at the contact of Sherlock's long fingers touching John's member.

Sherlock slowly worked John up until John could hardly see straight. He thrashed and bucked into Sherlock's hand wildly while he allowed Sherlock to softly grind his thigh, grateful for the friction to his own member.

Sherlock felt John stiffen underneath him before John's arms circled around his shoulders to pull their chest together. John bit Sherlock's shoulder- hard- as he finished into Sherlock's hand. For Sherlock, the mixture of pleasure and pain gave him the final push needed to crossing the finish line a few seconds after John.

John released Sherlock's shoulder from his mouth when he felt the small, damp patch from Sherlock's jeans. He blushed, hoping Sherlock wasn't too mad at him forgetting to take those off, but he couldn't care too much with the flood of endorphins floating around in his brain. He felt like a pile of jello and it was blissfully quiet in his head. No fighting, no discussions, no begging for domination. Just...silence.

John felt something cold and wet touch his skin, causing him to shiver. He fought to pick up his head and looked at the figure looming over him, wiping him down.

'When did Sherlock ever leave?' he asked himself. Apparently, he was so out of it, he hadn't noticed Sherlock's absence or his change in clothing.

"You know you've littered my neck with bruises, right?" Sherlock lightly scolded him. He tossed the soiled, wet towel carelessly behind him and reclaimed his place between the couch and John.

"M'sorry," John slurred as a wave of tiredness washed over him. "For the pants also."

"Forget it," he told him, guiding John's head to rest on his shoulder. "Everything else was..." useful? He thought about saying. "enjoyable."

John loosely wrapped his arm around Sherlock's torso and let out a contented sigh. It seemed his endorphin-filled brain found Sherlock's hard and sharp angles very comfortable. He buried his face in the groove of his neck and quickly fell asleep to internal silence for the first time in a long time.


	5. The Mystery that is John Watson

###### 

Sherlock watched as John fell into a deep sleep. He waited, until he was sure John wouldn't awaken if he moved him before pulling out his experimenting notebook.

He titled a new page _The Mystery that is John Watson._ He wrote his prior findings and evidence underneath the title.

_John Watson._  
 _Solitary man whom I have yet to reach a solid conclusion that explains who this man REALLY is._

_Conclusions so far:_  
 _-past soldier in Afghanistan for no more than three years_  
 _-fear of removal of clothes tell of past bodily injury. Until I am able to actually see or feel any markings on flesh, data is inconclusive._  
 _*side note, tested areas of skin are soft and smooth, yet retains some muscle from army days. Doctor hands make whatever he holds very comfortable...especially when he holds a certain consulting detective._  
 _-varying personalities tell of something...different about John. Cannot determine if this is a good or bad thing, yet. Experiments will determine at a future date._

_Experiments: ..._

Sherlock tapped his pencil on the notebook and looked down at the man sleeping on his shoulder; thinking of which experiment he wanted to start with.

_Experiment one-Sleeping experiment: continually wake John from sleep by tapping. See if his emotional state is the normal for a man with his type of lifestyle._  
 _Should expect: a slowly rise in anger each time John is awakened._

Sherlock set the notebook and paper down on his coffee table and looked at John. He tapped the center of John's forehead until eyelids opened halfway and he looked up at Sherlock's jaw.

Janet looked up sleepily at Sherlock. "Wha's wrong, darling?" she asked in a sleepy drawl. She softly cuddled deeper into Sherlock's neck and contently sighed.

Sherlock softly scratched John's head. "Nothing, John, go back to sleep."

Janet nodded softly and placed sleepy kisses on Sherlock's chest before finally falling asleep.

When John was fully asleep, Sherlock took up his notebook and wrote down his findings.

_-Everything normal so far. Cuddly._

He waited until John reached a deep sleep before tapping him awake again. This time, John wasn't as...accepting being awakened again. Before he was even totally awake, his calm, serene face quickly turned to one of anger.

"What do you fucking want? God, can't I sleep around here without someone waking me up throughout the night. Weren't you entertained enough after what you did earlier?"

Sherlock frowned slightly, more of a confused interest than actually being sad.

"Sorry, you can go back to sleep now."

"Thanks for wasting my time," Matt said before angrily pulling Sherlock closer and falling back asleep in an awkward, uncomfortable pose.

Sherlock waited until he heard small snores before wiggling himself loose from John's grasp. He watched John's face slowly morph back to neutral.

_-Very opposite mood swing. Not expected but not un-normal. Could have bad temper._

When John was awakened for a third time, he wasn't as cuddly as the first time, but he wasn't as pissed as the second time. He just looked sort of...confused.

"Is there something you need from me, Sherlock?" he asked calmly as if he was dealing with a child.

"Sorry, just needed to stretch my arm. Didn't mean to disturb you," he told him.

Chad softly nodded and moved Sherlock's arm from underneath him. "You need to sleep too..." he told Sherlock in a disapproving tone. "You're going to sleep too," he said with no room for argument.

"Alright," Sherlock told him to get him to get him to fall back to sleep. His sleep experiment wasn't over yet, so he couldn't fall asleep now. He had to keep going and he couldn't do that when his subject was awake. Things were just starting to get interesting.

Sherlock closed his eyes and settled into a posture as if he was going sleep, knowing John would know he was only acting.

Chad sighed at the man's obvious fake posture but didn't call him out on it. He felt groggy and tired. He couldn't summon up the energy to make sure Sherlock got some sleep. He sighed and closed his eyes, falling back underneath the blanket of sleep after turning away from him.

Sherlock cracked an eye open to John's sleeping face. His lips were slightly parted, but no snores came out of it this time.

_-Different sleeping patterns... All over mood spectrum. Cause for concern. Not normal or consistent waking patterns._

Sherlock slightly tapped John on the forehead with the pencil. He softly stirred awake, slowly looking at his surroundings. He slowly leaned up, and rubbed his eyes. He frowned at the unfamiliar setting and quickly looked down at Sherlock's familiar face.

"I'm sorry. Was I squishing you? D-do you want me to leave?" he asked in an unsure voice.

"No, John," he said and pulled him back down to lay on his shoulder. "You're fine. You can go back to sleep."

John's frown deepened as he looked up at Sherlock's jaw.

"Are you sure? You don't look like you're too comfortable with me on you. Am I too heavy for you? Can you not fall asleep?"

"I'm fine, John, really."

"Have you been awake this whole time, then?"

"Yes, but I've been...working..."

"Please sleep at least a little bit," John asked softly, not wanting Sherlock to think he was telling him what to do.

"Maybe... I don't usually sleep when I have something...interesting that needs to be attended to."

"Well, can't this interesting thing wait till morning? This can't be good for your body or health."

Sherlock scowled, hearing this argument countless times before. "The body is just transport. It's the mind that's important."

"But, your mind cannot function or work to its potential unless it's counterpart, the body, is up to its potential also..." he said shyly. "So, for tonight, can you try to rest. You never know when another large case can happen and you don't want your body distracting you from your work..."

Sherlock knew John had left it as an open command on purpose, which only made him confused even more. John was so interchangeable at certain times. It was like playing Russian roulette. You didn't know which emotion he'd have next.

Sherlock looked down at John, wondering why he was so adamant about the health of someone he just met. Maybe it was because he was a doctor; always looking out for someone.

"Can...you maybe...you don't have to though, but can you just sleep tonight? So that it will put me to rest? Unless you don't want to..."

Sherlock noticed that John hadn't said the common saying correctly. Put my _MIND_ to rest. He saved the thought to be put in the notebook later.

He sees that John is determined not to go back to sleep until he falls asleep also. With a resigned sigh, Sherlock settled in closer to John.

"Is this better?"

John turned a deep shade of pink as Sherlock was face to face with him. He felt his warm breath play with the fringe of his hair.

"K-kind of. Thanks. Now, will you fall asleep?"

"I guess... I guess I can tonight. If it will put your mind to rest," Sherlock sighed.

"It really will. Thank you.." he said, quietly tucking his face back in Sherlock's shoulder. John slung his arm back over Sherlock's chest after Sherlock pulled up the throw from over the couch over them.

Sherlock shut his eyes and felt warm and comfortable as he was lulled to sleep by John's comfortable weight and the feeling of John rubbing his stomach.


	6. Finding a Partner

###### 

Janet was awakened by the feeling of being squeezed to death. She tried to move farther into the couch, but the figure seemed to want to squeeze her even more.

She slowly opened her eye to the sight of Sherlock's appendages tightly wrapped around her. She shifted until she could look up into his sleeping face. She inhaled his scent and smiled to herself.

'John, you've out done yourself,' she told herself quietly. She was impressed; John totally stomped over her expectations.

Even though she wanted to enjoy this moment of being able to see the consulting detective in a way that most hardly saw him, she feel a rumbling in her stomach that only got louder as the clock continued to tick.

Janet softly wiggled out of Sherlock's grasp and substituted her body with a pillow and carefully climbed over the back of the couch; trying not to move Sherlock too much.

She hummed herself a little song, getting out various pans and supplies to cook breakfast. He heard Matt and Chad start to awaken, and said a quick mental 'good morning' as she happily stirred the eggs; not minding if she didn't know what Sherlock liked to eat in the morning. She figured that he wouldn't have it in his kitchen if he didn't like it. She was just too proud of her John. She really hoped this was an activate step forward for him.

###### 

Sherlock sighed comfortably and moved to wrap his legs around John's warm, short frame. He was disappointed when he woke up to find John gone and the smell of food floating from his kitchen. It's such an irregular occurrence, he's not sure if he likes it.

He stretched his long limbs as best as he could on his less than accommodating couch. He quickly grabbed his notebook from last night and scribbled down his findings from the night before.

_experiment findings: John's behavior does not fit the normal bell curve for someone's emotional state to being continually awaken throughout the night. They are not consistent; in fact, they are all over the mood spectrum._

_Conclusion: none; confusion prominent._

Sherlock angrily closed his notebook, not liking to admit that he was confused; even if it was to himself. He stood from the couch and followed his nose to the kitchen where he found John finishing his preparation of breakfast. He turned towards the table, humming an unfamiliar song, as he placed the food, tableware, and drinks in the table.

Janet looked up from setting the table to see Sherlock standing in the doorway. A huge smile spread over her lips and she walked over to him.

"Good morning. How are you? Did you have a good night?" she said with a wink. She laughed at Sherlock's sideways look and grabbed his hand. She wrapped her arm around his waist and pulled him closer to give him a quick peck in the cheek. "I kid, but really, how was your sleep. I hope I didn't disturb you."

She batted her eye lashes at him and pressed herself closer to his frame. After receiving no answer, she shrugged her shoulders, thinking his lack of answering may be due to his recent rise to consciousness. She released her grip from his waist and pulled him towards the table. She moved his plate of food in front of his spot and moved as close as he could to him.

"Um... Thank you," he said a little awkwardly. He looked skeptically at John. He wasn't usually made breakfast by someone; especially if he didn't ask for it.

"Um... One more thing. The little boys room?" Janet asked.

"Down the hall, two doors to the right."

"Thank you," Janet said, before scurrying off towards the direction of the bathroom.

She turned and shut the door to the bathroom before locking it. She let out a sigh of defeat, wondering why this man was so...awkward- and not totally in the same way John was awkward. She guessed if crazy attracted crazy.

She turned away from the door and walked over to the toilet.

###### 

A scream brought Sherlock's attention from his plate to where the sound was coming from. Ahh... He forgot to notify John about the last experiment failure in the toilet seat.

Sherlock stood graciously from his chair and walked down the hall before standing in front of the bathroom door.

"Sorry, John. I forgot to warn you about that. It's not contagious, so you can just flip the seat up."

Sherlock waited silently outside of the bathroom door, listening to what sounded like John freaking out on the other side of the door.

###### 

"What am I supposed to do?" Janet whined.

'Use the bathroom like a man...' Matt said in a grumpy yawn.

"I don't use the bathroom like that," she scowled. "That's one of your guy's jobs. I am a girl!" she said, putting a hand on her hip.

'Janet, you've been in this body long enough to learn how to use the bathroom standing up,' Chad said sleepily.

"No, if I have to go, I'd usually make one of you go or I'll just use it sitting down. Now, someone else become dominant and use the restroom, or else we're going to be standing here until we wet ourselves," she hissed. When neither Chad nor Matt fell for her bluff, she went to wake up John.

"John, darling, wake up! You need to use the restroom."

John yawned and sleepily raised his arms to rub his eyes. Still half sleep, he stepped into dominate position and spread his legs apart to get into standard position of using the bathroom.

After finishing, he put himself away, zipped up his pants and washed his hands. He let out another yawn and washed his face before doing a series of morning stretches.

John walked out of the bathroom and ran his face into Sherlock's chest.

"Oh, sorry." John smiled lazily at Sherlock and ran his hand through his hair, making his bed-head even worse. "Hope you had a good night sleep. Something smells delicious. Did you make breakfast?"

'John, I made breakfast!' Janet squeaked.

Johns eyes widened momentarily. "Ha-ha, I'm just kidding. Why don't we have some of the breakfast I made?" John said, playing off his mistake. He started walking down the hall until he reached a fork in his walkway.

"Umm.. right or left?"

Sherlock stood behind John, making mental notes of everything he heard or has seen him do. So far, the forgetfulness of John since entered the facility to now was a causes for concern. If John continually blacked out, what does John actually remember? Or does he repress doing certain things in certain situations? These findings were making Sherlock more confused than making things clearer. Why was John Watson so complicated?

"Left."

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

They continued to the kitchen and Sherlock continued to survey John. He noticed that it seemed every room he had currently passed from waking up to the point of reaching the bathroom seemed to catch John's attention when it should have so priorly.

John took his seat in the opposite side of Sherlock and picked up his fork to eat. He noticed Sherlock was staring at him awfully hard.

"Umm..do you not like it? I-I can try to make something else if you want."

Sherlock was brought out of his thinking process. He shook his head and scratched underneath his dressing gown to reach his right shoulder.

"Really, John. I'm fine. I was just...thinking." Sherlock tried to give John a reassuring smile.

John froze and dropped his fork.

'Crap, what did I do now?' Sherlock thought to himself.

John felt as if he couldn't breathe. What the hell did Matt do? On Sherlock's perfectly broad shoulder, under John's bite mark, in Matt's scrawl-y, angry handwriting, was Matt's name.

John shot up from his chair and quickly went to the sink.

"John, what's wrong?" Sherlock asked and looked down at his shoulder. "Who's Matt?"

"N-no one! Just... Just forget about it!"

Sherlock saw John shaking by the sink. Sherlock got up from his seat and stood behind John. He went to place a hand on his shoulder when the shaking stopped and he squared his shoulders in a military formation.

"Sorry, Sherlock," Chad apologized, turning towards Sherlock with a wet cloth. He wiped off the marker (silently grateful it was just that) and dropped off the soiled napkin into the trash."I must be leaving. I have...prior engagements to attend to. It was...nice to meet you," he said, holding out his hand to shake Sherlock's.

"John, before you leave, please sit down. There are some things I want to discuss with you..."

John flinched. He wasn't sure what Sherlock wanted to talk to him about, but whatever it was, I didn't sound good.

'I'll handle this, Chad. I just hope it's nothing I think it will be.'

'Are you sure, John. I don't mind.'

'I'm sure. I need to do this. Thanks anyways.'

'It's fine, but if you change your mind, I'm still back here.'

"Thanks again," he sighed and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked up to Sherlock's confused face and sighed again.

"What do you need to talk about."

"Your last night's performance."

John quickly tensed. "W-what about it? Was I not good at it? Did I do something wrong? I am so..sorry if I screwed something up."

"What are you apologizing for?"

"Umm..." he said, unsure.

"I...have been looking for someone competent enough to..how would you say it...partner up with? Someone with your military back and medical knowledge (let's not forget your love of adventure and danger), I feel you would make an excellent addition to my work."

John was caught off guard by Sherlock's proposition. He wanted him to work with him? That was...unexpected.

"But, for this to work out, I must warn you of a few...requirements. Since I will need you at a moment's notice, it will require us to share a living quarter. You may continue your apprenticeship and job, but I will requiring your services at the most inopportune times."

"You...think I would be beneficial to your work? Really?" John asked, beaming at Sherlock. "You want me to.."

"Assist me, yes." 'And allow me to study you.' Sherlock mentally added.

'John, think this through. You know nothing about this man. Do you think it's smart to move in and start working with him.' Chad told him softly.

'I think it would be interesting to live with this guy,' Janet said, speaking up. 'Look how he's brought John out of his shell already,' she said, softly rubbing John's shoulders. John blushed slightly.

'Maybe John will open up and have some fun once in a while anyway. I mean... Think of all the troub- I mean adventures we can have!' Matt chipped in.

'Don't you guys see the danger behind this? This guy isn't the normal smart. He's _smart_. How long do you think it will take him to figure out John isn't in a normal mental state?' Chad scolded.

'You guys are also forgetting about John's...experience from last night, 'Janet said. 'If he does figure out, do you think he'll really turn John in? He'll have to have a soft spot for him somewhere.'

'Plus, if he hasn't figured it out now, he's not as smart as we believe him to be,' Matt said, skeptical.

'I'm pretty sure he's suspicious from your little joke earlier!' Chad said through gritted teeth.

'Did you see John's face?' Matt howled.

'You almost made him have a panic attack!' Chad shouted, losing his cool momentarily.

"What about last night?" John asked, bringing the internal debate to a standstill.

Sherlock scowled. "I must let you know, I consider myself a sociopath; meaning-"

"Yes, I know the standard definition of sociopath. You don't listen to authority. Not very emotional, yada-yada. So, last night...will mean nothing?"

"I cannot fall in love, if that's what you're looking for."

John let out a sigh of relief. 'That was close.' He said mentally. "So last night..."

"Will be a thing of the past," Sherlock confirmed. "You're not looking for a relationship, I don't do relationships; save for working.

John smiled warmly at Sherlock. "Then...consider me your new partner," he said shaking Sherlock's hand.

"I will be looking forward to future...events, Dr. Watson," Sherlock smiled, shaking John's hand generously.


	7. Comfortable Spaces

###### 

For the next few days, John concentrated on moving into Sherlock's living space. Over the course of the one week, he moved all of his stuff to the upstairs bedroom, met the dear old, landlady Mrs. Hudson, and learned that the brilliant genius was going to be extremely hard to live with.

In that one week, John has heard three explosions, two questionable substances almost dropped on him, and one occurrence where something almost jumped out at him from their fridge.

Janet couldn't stand the mess of their flat. She was constantly trying to clean even though John and Sherlock constantly told her it was going to be a lost cause.

Matt found new ways to get in trouble. He'd have the most fun messing with Sherlock whenever he'd been deep in thought. So far, Sherlock:  
-had come "back" to earth thinking he was in his palace for a week because Matt set everything one week early.  
-had drawn glasses and a permanent marker mustache on him.  
-and had been handcuffed to himself and the coffee table so Matt could see if he could really get out of the handcuffs in less than a minute. He then begged Sherlock for the next half hour if he could teach him how to pick a lock. John ended up in his closet, breathing out of a paper bag after hearing about that one.

Chad tried to stay as far away from Sherlock as was possible. He still didn't trust this man and felt something was _wrong_. If anyone would find out about John's condition, it would be this man. No one just randomly asked someone to move in after meeting them for one night. There was always an ulterior motive. He'd just have to find out what...and be there for when he'd hurt John.

John, for the most part, felt comfortable with Sherlock as his new roommate. He was...different. They spent plenty of time together, and John slowly opened up to where they didn't have very many secrets between them- except for the obvious.

Sherlock actually found John pretty...manageable. Given, with all the hijinks, John wasn't _totally_ the most manageable of people, but he was pretty interesting. John was always so... spontaneous. Sherlock could never get what made John Watson up. He had to dedicate most of his notebook to the makeup of what John Watson was.

From the recent cases they had taken together, Sherlock had seen a change in John (well, instead of the mood change) slowly take over him. He didn't act so shut down or shy whenever he was in Sherlock's presence (which Sherlock was thankful for).

He'd spent countless hours in his mind palace trying to figure out all the possible options to define John Watson. So far, he was sure of the following conclusions:

_-John Watson has conflicting personalities_  
 _-John Watson has various scars covering his body (seen in snapshots, so cannot find definite cause of them)_  
 _-John Watson has mental scars that my attribute to a mental illness. Most likely acquired during or just after military service._

His notebook (along with his palace) was slowly filling up with everything John. _John. John. John_. This mystery of John was plaguing him. It used to never take him this long to solve a mystery, especially when the subject was so close at hand. It was frustrating and stimulating at the same time. He couldn't wait to figure out John Watson.


	8. Little Experimental Guinea Pig

###### 

Experiment 10  
Show John different figures and ask him to grade them from best to worst. To be done at random intervals during opposing personalities.

"John, what do you think about these crime scene pictures? Grade them from least gruesome to most."

John: "umm... Why am I grading crime scene pictures? Fine... One, two, three, four, five. Actually, switch three and four. Good? Good."

Matt: "What the fuck is wrong with you now? Is this for some weird booklet you're making. 'Crime Scene Fetishes' or something. Man, don't you have another case we can solve? I'm getting bored here!"

Janet: "Get those away! I don't want to see those. It's not a nice thing to show others. Give those back to the DI! In fact, give them here. I'm going out for a drink with him tonight."

Chad: "Sherlock, are you doing another test? I told you, I don't want to be part of any of your experiments. It's not nice and I don't like it. Please, put that mind to work elsewhere."

_Conclusion: At different times, John acts and feels differently towards the same stimuli. Calls for further study._

###### 

Sherlock sat in his arm chair opposite of John and his employer, notebook in hand. On the phone a week ago, John and Sarah had talked nonstop to each other for over an hour. They had a lively conversation about various trivial stuff Sherlock didn't find the least bit interesting.

Now that they were face to face, there was almost an awkward silence between the two. John sat as far away from her as the couch would allow. She tried to start various conversations with him, but John's natural conversation stopping tendency kept getting in the way of having an easy flowing conversation.

Just as it seemed to be getting even too uncomfortable for Sarah, a sudden change came over John. All of the sudden, John was very social and very comfortable sliding up next to Sarah.

_Conclusion: Sudden mood swings. Very interchangeable._

###### 

Sherlock looked out of their upper-story window to the skip below. He saw John with another woman.

She was practically falling all over John (as other things were falling out of that dress); it was despicable. For the past half hour, they had been on the stoop talking, flirting, god knows what.

Since John's life now included Sherlock, he had been opening up to more people, but Sherlock felt that this was a little too open. John was his interesting subject. What was with all these women coming out of the woodwork's? They were getting in the way of Sherlock's time with John.

Sherlock saw the woman press herself into John's arms, trying to cling to him in an overly seductive tactic to bed him. Sherlock stiffened. How dare someone else touch John in such a way. He stomped down the stairs to the front door. He was about to pull open the door when to confront this women when he heard John's voice.

"L-look. Umm... I have a long day tomorrow and I'm not..."

"What's wrong?" she pout-whined. "Don't you want me...in your bed...with you." Sherlock wanted to gag at her attempt at seductiveness.

"No, no really..."

Sherlock opened the door to John gently trying to push the overbearing woman off.

"John, you're home," he said, trying for a fake cheeriness. "Would you please come up and help me with an experiment?"

"Oh, you have a roommate," she said stepping away from John.

"Yeah, sorry. I have to go-" John said quickly before Sherlock tugged him inside and shut the door on her face.

"Thank you," John (and all his personalities) said in unison, giving Sherlock a genuinely sincere smile.

Sherlock followed John upstairs; privately smiling and blushing as he ascended.

_Conclusion: Don't let John fall into any woman's clutches. He's impressionable, innocent, and a bit naive._

###### 

Experiment 17

Go through John's room when he's not home. [though it's not actually an experiment.]

Sherlock walked upstairs to John's bedroom an hour after John went to work. He opened the door and was confused at what he saw.

Sherlock thought maybe to find one of two things: a military clean room or a messy I'm-a-doctor-and-have-to-leave-quickly room. Instead, he found the room divided into four separate parts that coincided in the middle where the bed lie.

'Very interesting,' Sherlock thought himself.

He started on one side of the room and quickly looked around all of the separate areas. Other than the vastly contrasting taste, Sherlock only found one anomaly. Pictures- all the picture subtitles were all wrong. They were consistent in their own separate spaces; they said a different name of someone who wasn't there, and always forgot John's name. Chad? Janet? Matt? These were leads, but he didn't know how they connected.

_Conclusion: John leads different lives? Need more information._

Before Sherlock left John's room, something caught his eye. He walked over a picture that was covered with a cleaning rag. He picked up the photo and took off the cleaning rag before turning it over to see the back.

"John and Sherlock," he read. He turned the picture over to see the front and smiled softly at the picture of the two discussing a corpse at the crime scene. He slightly chuckled before wondering why John would have such a picture. Is this what friends do? He felt something warm settle in his chest.

Maybe there was something to this thing called friendship.

_Conclusion: John Watson considers Sherlock Holmes a friend._

Sherlock tapped the eraser of his pencil on his bottom lip. He smirked and continued to write.

_Conclusion: And vice versa. Sherlock Holmes now has a friend._

###### 

Sherlock ran down the stairs leading to the subway; following the thief who had the only clue to finding where a multimillion dollar antique was going to be sold on the black market.

Behind him, John took a wrong turn and headed east- opposite of Sherlock and their subject heading west. Sherlock sighed harshly; there was nothing he could do about it now.

Sherlock intercepted the suspect at the bottom of the stairs; scuffling with him for a while before the thief brought out a knife and swung it wildly at Sherlock. Sherlock tried to block all the stabs the suspect threw at him. Just as Sherlock thought he had the upper hand, the suspect threw a right hook, connecting it with Sherlock's jaw. Sherlock stumbled back towards the edge of the platform and grabbed the air desperately for purchase. He saw the headlights of an approaching train in the distance, knowing what his thief was thinking. Without disappointment, the thief quickly approached Sherlock, arms straight out, to give him that last lethal push.

Out of nowhere, Matt tackled the man to the floor, clipping Sherlock's shoulder as he passed. Sherlock tumbled down 10 feet to the tracks below.

John gasped as he saw Sherlock fall. He saw uniforms running towards him in the distance. When he decided they were close enough to catch him if he ran, he jumped off the man and quickly ran to the side of the tracks.

'Come on, John,' Matt said, swinging his leg over the side. 'We have to go save the crazy bastard.'

Matt let go of the side of the platform. He quickly ran over to the unconscious Sherlock; John becoming more wary of the approaching train. Chad quickly looked over him to see if he was in any danger if spinal cord injury if he moved him wrong. Finding none, he hoisted Sherlock over his shoulders and carried him to safety.

Now that they were out of immediate danger, Janet medically checked Sherlock over before deciding that Sherlock's only injury was from a bump from the fall. John let out a huge sigh of relief and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's skinny frame.

"John, stop crying. It's just a bump," Sherlock said, sounding bored. "And where were you? Only because you are you, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt."

John sniffled and chuckled. "I thought you had the suspect, so... when I found out where exactly they were hiding the antique, I had to grab it and then decided to run around to try to intercept our thief."

"You found the antique?" Sherlock asked, eyebrows raised and impressed.

"Yeah. They hid it where they usually have the fake art here; though, the suspect is probably the most important to you."

"I'm mildly impressed, John."

"Really?" he asked shocked.

"Yes."

John beamed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock to hug him.

"I'm glad you're okay, Sherlock."

Sherlock was confused by the amount of sentiments that John was showing towards him and the feeling he felt throughout his chest. He wasn't used to it; having a friend worry about him so much. He smiled softly despite it, though. Maybe there was something to them.

He saw the DI and his squad start to approach them and gave John a rough shove back.

"Professional standard, John," he said while clearing his throat and blushing.

John shot him a confused look before slightly chuckling.

"Well, if you're going to be like that, then you're getting checked out by the ambulance staff for that bump on your head."

John laughed harder at Sherlock's face as he personally escorted him there.


	9. The Notebook of John Watson

The notebook of John H. Watson.

August 2  
 _Since I have moved in with my new flat mate, I have been... I wouldn't say forced, but my added title of assistant has required me to meet a lot of new people. For this to have occurred, I have had to slightly overcome my shyness of meeting new people, but since they are mostly interested in Sherlock, I don't have to carry a conversation farther than "Hi.". It's a step in the right direction._

###### 

August 17

_Actually decided to try to not be shy when Sherlock wasn't around. Asked my employer to accompany me to dinner. Within the first five minutes, I had to switch with Janet so that neither of us would think about leaving. Apparently, we're now buddies._

'Friends aren't so bad. Believe me, you could use a few more,' Janet said, looking over his shoulder.

'Technically, I don't have any friends. They're your friends.'

'Semantics,' she hummed.

###### 

September 6  
 _That detective inspector isn't as bad as I once thought he was. He came over and we talked for a little while. Like Sherlock, he doesn't mind me not talking too much. We enjoy silence together. It was mostly Matt that doesn't like him._

'Damn right. Not only is he a copper, he's a skeptical, conniving one. Always trying to pick on Sherlock so he can get some answer. The fucker.'

"When did you come friends with Sherlock?" John asked, intrigued.

'After he showed me how to pick the lock on that box of 'literature' under your bed,' he said with a smirk. 'Never knew you had it in you, Johnny.'

John angrily shut his book and stomped out of his room.

"Sherlock!"

###### 

November 18  
 _I think Sherlock is also growing accustomed to me. We have this easy going schedule that enables us to work together and not grate on each other's nerves; even though we mostly spend our down time together too. He has a problem with constantly re-asking the same questions though._

_makes me worry of he tried to deduce me sometimes._

###### 

December 8  
 _I believe Sherlock and I have moved from colleagues to friendship...something like that. He's opened up about his personal life (i.e. family), but has yet to actually meet them. He tells me that his they aren't as...accommodating as he is, but how bad they be?_

_Is it because I'm not up to a standard that they hold? Do they not believe ex- military surgeon is not a flattering job?_

_He tells me that his family isn't rich; contrary to what everyone believes. That his family always made their own way in the world. If you have the air of a rich man and seem to have the power of a rich man, people stereotype you to be rich._

_I guess I can believe that. It's the same thing with doctors. Everyone believes us to be rich, though, they never think about the cost of paying for medicine, running the clinic, providing samples, handouts, etc. Doctors aren't filthy rich as people think them to be. When you sue us, that's taken out of our insurance. Who pays for that very high insurance? ME!_

_Sherlock did tell me his brother has a "minor" government position, yet he's able to use that position to get Sherlock whatever he needs. Yet, it seems neither of them throw money around and Sherlock has me as a flat mate. They have the power, they use it to influence people into believing whatever lie they want them to believe. Very clever._

###### 

January 22  
 _I handled a situation on my own today! Didn't have to trade with Janet or Chad. I calmly told a girl that I wasn't interested in her. She even cried and I still didn't back down._

_Not to give myself too much accomplishment credit, these small steps mostly do happen because Sherlock is around and a) I shouldn't be randomly switching personalities because he's a genius and he'll know something's up and b) life's not so unmanageable when he's around. It's almost fun... And it was kind if sweet how he did come to my "rescue"._

###### 

February 16  
 _Sherlock set himself on fire...again. Very awkward when Mrs. Hudson walked in with a tray and biscuits to me swatting Sherlock on the ass. I would think he'd at least remember "Stop. Drop. And Roll" But no... He has to run into the living room and have me swat him to put it out. And it happens that his ass is the last thing on fire. Just the exact time that deer sweet Mrs. Hudson has her tea time._

_I turned as red as a tomato. Matt found it hilarious. I wonder if you can get indicted for homicide if the person that you killed was part of yourself._

###### 

March 23

_It seems that Sherlock and I have been sticking up for each other a lot more recently._

_It seems the world is out to hurt him or something. Sherlock deserves to be treated better than something unnatural or disgusting. He deserves to be put on a pedestal for the whole world to see his brilliance. Why can no one but me see how..special he is?_

_Sherlock knows I can be...myself sometimes. He adapts to it an handles those situations accordingly. I've had fewer breakdowns since moving in with him and he's always there incase he's wanted; never panicking or trying to get information out of me. He just...sits there and holds me when I needs to be held._

John sighed.

_It's no wonder everyone gets the wrong idea about our type of relationship. I'm not interested in being in love because love is toxic. Love...love is the reason I went crazy._


	10. Don't Say the Word Love

we have a small flash of why John is the way he is...

###### 

John hated the words he wrote on the page. His past psychiatrist said that it was the best thing to do, but it seemed to only make his faults seem worse.

'How come you never put that you fucked him in here?' Matt asked, flipping through the pages of the journal.

"Stop it!" John said angrily, taking back control and putting the journal in his own personal space. "And we did not 'fuck'. 1) there was no penetration. We just...got each other off. 2) it was... a lapse in judgment. One of those...spontaneous things you regret. We've both moved on from it. It's in the past. No need to dwell on it."

'So...' Matt drawled, pressing his tongue into his cheek. 'You wouldn't fuck him again?'

"Shut up..." John sighed angrily. He didn't want to talk about his soft spot for his flat mate.

'What is this? Shy old Johnny boy actually said something harsh to someone else? This is a miracle. This guy must be a magician,' he said sarcastically.

'Stop picking on John. Sherlock does allow John to open up, but it's people like you that make him shut down,' Janet said angrily.

'Johnny boy knows I pick on him because he knows that I'm playing. I cannot pick on him since he's part if me. I don't pick on myself.'

Janet raised her eyebrow, losing Matt's logic somewhere after playing. 'Whatever you say.'

'Come on, Johnny. You know that you like this dude at least a tiny bit...'

"The farthest I feel going comfortable with Sherlock is brotherly...kindness."

'You can say lo-,'

"No!" John shouted, jumping up from his bed, suddenly getting angry. "I do not LOVE anyone! Okay?! Love-Love is...horrible! and dangerous! And! And! And!" John yelled, and stomped around the room.

'John, John calm down,' Janet said trying to sooth him. 'See what you do, Matt!'

'How was I supposed to know he'd go this bad off of his rocker?' Matt defended.

"Shut up! Everyone just shut up! God! Can't you guys ever BE QUIET? God! Just please!"

John started to shake and twitch, causing concern to spread throughout the other personalities.

'John,' Chad said calming, trying to get John's attention as he started to freak out. 'John, calm down.' Chad wrapped his arms around John's shaking frame. John started to hyperventilate and weakly fought against Chad's hold as he was escorted to the floor.

"Just...please! Shut up! Just..."

"John?" he vaguely heard Sherlock call.

John fell into a deep spiral of remembering the past that he couldn't get out of. He felt like his lungs couldn't expand and his head hurt immensely.

He heard a familiar squeak of a chair as someone got up. The sound of their footsteps ricocheted off the walls of his mind and sounded deafening to him. They only got louder as they got closer and John's breathing became harder.

"John," the voice said in an old yet familiar tone.

"John..." another voice said, even farther away.

The sound of footsteps ceased and John saw two men in the distance. One was a middle-aged man, slightly taller than the younger, military dressed man he was talking to.

They seemed to be arguing about something, but they were silent; not one word was spoken aloud. The military dressed man seemed to be almost...pleading with the older man, wondering why? Why did he do what he did?

John felt his heart rate speed up at the familiarity of the situation. A small, scared whine escaped his lips and his eyes blurred at unshed tears. The older man goes to a drawer he knows the older man keeps his "prized possessions".

"John. John?"

The military man looks wearily at the drawer, wondering what the older man could possibly want in the drawer. John tries to plead with the older man. He tries to move, but he seems to be stuck to the floor.

As the first glint of metal, John yelled at the stunned military man.

"Stop! Please!"

"JOHN!" Sherlock bellows, shaking John from his thoughts and shattering the memory. "It's okay, John, it's me, Sherlock. You're fine," Sherlock told him as he held him to his shoulder. He softly gripped the back of his head as John tried to fight against his hold.

John's eyes darted around the room as he came back to the present time. He saw his familiar room and smelt Sherlock's familiar scent; causing relief to flood his veins. John's allowed his tears to flow as his emotions became too much for him. He tightly gripped Sherlock's shirt and was silently thankful for Sherlock's comforting form.

"They wouldn't shut up... They wouldn't shut up..." he chanted softly.

"Shh... It's fine, John. Just relax."

John hid his face in the groove of Sherlock's neck as Sherlock rubbed soothing circles on his back. Sherlock softly brushed his lips over John's temples as he slowly rocked him back and forth. He felt John's shivers slowly stop and his breathing return to normal.

"Here, let's get you up on your bed," Sherlock whispered softly in his ear.

John shut his eyes tightly as Sherlock pulled John to stand up and lay him on his bed.

"John, I need you to look at me," Sherlock said softly as he carded his hand through John's hair. John obliged. "I'll be right back, okay. I'm going to go and get you something to help you calm down."

John felt extremely nervous and vulnerable when Sherlock left. He could feel himself start to tremble again and hoped Sherlock would return soon.

Sherlock returned with a glass of water in one had. He made his way over to John's bed and sat in the edge.

"John, take a deep breath and relax."

John softly nodded his head and worked on filling Sherlock's request.

"I'm going to give you something to rest, okay? It's a weak barbiturate. It will help you sleep until tomorrow, okay?" Sherlock asked, handing a small white pill to John.

He helped John lean up while he swallowed the white pill and washed it down with the water.

"Stay with me?" John asked softly. "At least until I fall asleep."

Sherlock nodded and tucked John into his bed. He sat on his bed and leaned on the John's head board; allowing John to lean on him as the drugs started to take effect and he went off to a long, dreamless sleep.

John came down stairs the next day, expecting Sherlock to make him explain what exactly happened last night, but just like every time, they acted as if the incident never happened. He sat at the kitchen table, probably writing down his next experiment. John was silently thankful.


	11. Another Breakdown

Sherlock angrily walked down the hall of the Diogenes Club. He turned a corner, trying to get to his brother's office as fast as he could; having no regard for John who was doing his best to keep up with the man with the long legs. He quickly turned down another aisle and came to his brother's office. Without knocking, he barged in and shut the door before locking it behind him.

"Why is it that you continue to interfere with my life and who comes in it?" he said through gritted teeth.

"Why, hello to you too, dear brother. I was hoping this was going to be a social visit." Mycroft said nonchalantly, not looking up from his paperwork.

"Can we cut the fake pleasantries? I know you only called us here was to scope out John for yourself. What do you want?!" he yelled, baring his teeth. "John hasn't been...feeling very well lately."

"Sherlock?" he heard John call as he walked by Mycroft's door. They waited until his voice faded away before speaking again.

"What are you planning on doing with this man after you are done with him?" Mycroft, finally looking up at his brother.

"Why do you think I'll ever be done with him? He is my flat mate-"

"That you have slept with and have manipulated him so that you could experiment on him without his knowledge."

"He knows I...do experiments.." Sherlock said quietly.

"Not on him. I have yet to receive a form of experimental consent on this man."

"He automatically agreed to be my test subject when he signed his name to part of the lease."

"Does he know that?"

"It's not my fault some people don't to ask specific details when signing a lease."

"Sherlock," his brother chided. "This man has PTSD! You can seriously harm this person mentally."

"There is something more than PTSD here, brother. John Watson...is a scientific mystery. A mystery I am going to solve."

"And when you solve it? What are you going to do then? Throw him away like everyone else? Or maybe, send him to the asylum like the last "mystery" you had?" he slanted his eyes and looked straight into his brother's eyes. "These are human lives you are messing with, dear brother. Lives that people live! Lives that people like John Watson feel they have a grasp on before people like you come out of nowhere and screw it up for them and make it worse!"

Sherlock was silent, glaring at his brother. How dare his brother think such a thing! Cutting him down as everyone else expected him to act. The last guy was a fluke. He _needed_ the asylum. He was a pinch and a stepped on foot away from going on a murderous rampage throughout London.

"John Watson is different from all those "others" as you claim them to be. He is a reliable addition to my work and doesn't try to keep me beneath his thumb! I have yet to find out the true cause of John's...attitude, but I assure you, John isn't just a plaything that can be disposed of after you're done with playing with him."

"Sherlock-" Mycroft started before being cut off by another yell.

"S-Sherlock?"

Sherlock quickly turned towards the door and quickly swung it open. He looked down the hall and saw two men escorting John away from Mycroft's office.

"John!" Sherlock yelled at him before running towards him. He pushed one of the guards out of the way and pulled John out of his grasp.

"What the hell do you think you are doing? Can you not see this man is with me?"

"Sorry, Sir, but we were uninformed the younger Holmes would be traveling with a guest. Plus, he was breaking the number one rule of the Diogenes Club."

"I don't care if he broke all of the clubs _rules_." he sneered. "You do not touch this man! Do you understand me?!" He yelled at them.

"Yes, Sir," they said in unison.

"You are dismissed, then." he held John to his chest as he watched the two guards silently walked down the hall.

After they were gone, Sherlock turned his attention back to John. He looked down at him and felt him shaking and hyperventilating.

"John, are you okay?" he asked him softly, smoothing his hair from in front of his eyes. When John's shaking didn't lessen, he helped him to the floor and held him closely; waiting, rocking, and whispering softly to him until John calmed down and his breathing went back to normal.

"Shh... John, it's okay. It's me, Sherlock," he quietly whispered in his ear.

He felt the grip on his shirt tighten and pull him closer. He retaliated by pulling John closer and making soothing circles on his back.

"Relax, John. It's fine. No one's going to take you away. You are safe. You're here at the Diogenes Club, nowhere else. It's alright..."

###### 

John felt like he couldn't breathe. His ribs were cracked and bruised and he was sure a few of his cuts were infected. His heart was beating a mile a minute.

He felt a jagged, crude edge of a knife sliced vertically around his arm; his warm sticky blood flowing down it. He heard an evil laugh somewhere in the room, but could see nothing but darkness from a thick blindfold.

He tried to scream out as another, deeper cut was made a little higher up on his forearm, but it was muffled by a gag. His breathing became heavier as he felt his past injuries' pain mix with his new ones.

In the back of his mind, he could hear small, distant voices trying to speak to him; trying to tell him it's not real.

He feels a knife cut deep into a spot on his shoulder and let out a scream as it's twisted into the wound. His muffled screams drown out the voices trying to calm him- trying to tell him that it's all in his head.

He was on the verge of tears when a single voice breaks through the mental haze.

"John?" it asked. It sounds watery, but it's clearly calling his name. He tries to focus all his attention on the voice.

"John, talk to me." The voice is clearly Sherlock's, but it's so far away. The pain is almost overwhelming him. "John... Come on, John. It's alright. You're fine. You're safe. You're with me. I promise, it's just a dream. It's not real."

John shut his stinging eyes and took a few deep breaths. Slowly, he felt the stinging fade and the bounds fall away. Instead of stabbing pain, soft and warm lips press against his forehead and breathe in his scent. Slowly, he opens his watery eyes to Sherlock's worried face.

Sherlock wiped away the tears that stained John's cheeks and eyes. He gave him a sad smile and looked him in the eyes. Slowly, John's other personalities' voices came back into the present. He gave a big sigh of relief and closed his eyesagain, leaning in Sherlock for support. Sherlock wrapped his arms around him tighter and gave him another soft peck on his forehead.

"Come on, John. Let's go home," Sherlock said softly, helping John to stand. He placed a comforting arm on his shoulder and escorted him to an awaiting black car.

"Sherlock," John said softly, his voice rough from his experience.

"Yes, John?"

"We're supposed to meet your brother."

Sherlock grinned and chuckled a little. "I'm sure he'll understand."

John nodded and continued to lean on Sherlock as they left the building.

###### 

Mycroft watched the whole episode from his office doorway. He now understood what Sherlock meant when he said John was special. He brought out his brother's best qualities and didn't make him think others were merely an inconvenience. He actually reached out to help someone he obviously care very much for.

It was almost...weird.

Mycroft closed his door and returned to his desk. He picked up the phone and dialed his assistant.

"I need any and all information regarding mental tests run on a John H. Watson. Ex-army doctor, sent home from injuries sustained from battle. I need to know if he's at risk for any mental illnesses."

"Is that all, Sir?"

"No. I need a number of a psychiatrist on standby. They would need to be able to admit Watson at any moment's notice."

"Are you sure?" she asked confused.

"I've known my brother long enough to know that he'll screw this partnership up one way or another. The only difference is, he'll be destroying John's life instead of his own."


	12. Where do we go from Here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finally deduces John's condition and an important question hangs in the balance.

###### 

Sherlock sat in his chair with his legs pulled to his chest, watching his friend sleep peacefully after his earlier ordeal.

He remembered the first time he experienced one of John's "breakdowns". Before, it was just interesting information he was able to obtain from John to confirm a few of his theories, but as it started to spiral downward, Sherlock was seriously considering either calling a doctor or an asylum. It was the first time Sherlock was not 100% sure what to do. When John started to seizure and cry, Sherlock felt he couldn't breathe.

These attacks always did something to Sherlock that made feel too human. He couldn't imagine losing the only friend he'd made. He was an important addition not only to his work, but to his life all around.

Now that he figured out he was also a stable foundation for John, he knew how to handle it better, but he was still concerned. His attacks had to be triggered by something, but he couldn't figure out what it was. He didn't even know what John had that could trigger it.

Sherlock closed his eyes and went through his mind palace, bringing all John's information to the forefront if his mind. He layer all his deductions out in front of him.

-past mental scarring  
-mood swings  
-conflicting ideologies and personalities  
-scarring all over body  
-talks to oneself constantly  
-changing of personalities constantly  
-army for three years  
-lost father in early to middle teens; step-father less than a year after  
-alcoholic sister  
-past psychiatrist  
-PTSD, currently not seeking therapy for any mental related issues. He knows he doesn't have a correct mental state. Hiding it  
-doctor  
-etc.

Sherlock rearranged the facts constantly, seeking for an answer that fit all the data.

Bipolar:  
He shook his head No

Borderline Personality Disorder:  
Plausible, but doubtful

Schizophrenia:  
slight, but as to be something deeper

Intermittent explosive disorder:  
explains random anger, but not all other moods

'Split in personalities...'  
'Past trauma...'  
'Talking to one's self'

The solution hit Sherlock like a ton of bricks, forcing him out of his mind palace. He opened his eyes and stared into space, mesmerized at the impossibility, but only solution that made sense with the data.

"DID."

###### 

John walked back into the living room after cleaning up Sherlock's last experiment mess off the counter. He had awakened to Sherlock's soothing baritone voice murmuring words softly. John smiled, watching his flat mate's fingers dance on the side of his head as thoughts seemed to fly past.

John reminded himself to thank Sherlock for his help later. He was always there whenever John needed to ground himself. His strong arms wrapped around him, holding him to his broad chest and pressing his warm lips to his forehead. Carding those long, thin fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp.

John quickly derailed from his train of thought, shocked at his thinking taking such a route. Sherlock was his friend and he didn't want anything more. Their one night was it- for him and for Sherlock. Neither of them were looking for a relationship.

He really needed a cup of tea.

He walked into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. As he turned to collect his cup, his arm clipped a test tube and sent the contents all over the counter. Why couldn't Sherlock ever clean up?

Now back in the living room, John looked over to Sherlock staring at nothing in particular.

"Did you say something?" John asked, confused.

Sherlock turned to look at him, eyes gleaming at his own brilliance.

"DID. Dissociative Identity Disorder. Most commonly known as MPD- Multiple Personality Disorder. That's what you have, isn't it? Matt, Janet, and Chad are your other personalities," Sherlock inquired softly, getting up and standing in front of John. "It's the reason that you can change characteristics and it's also the reason you never seem consistent in your choices; why your hand writing doesn't always match and why you are influenced by different stimuli in different ways. You have at least three different alters living inside your brain..." he trailed off and cocked his head to look at john sideways.

John's heart rate and breathing sped up as Sherlock let out his string of deductions. John tried to deny it, but nothing resembling substantial reasoning came out.

"N-no!" John tried to say. "Multiple Personality Disorder occurs in people that have experienced sexual abuse when they were a child. I wasn't sexually abused in any way!"

"I admit I was momentarily stuck wondering if this was the right conclusion, but from recent events, I have concluded that you have faced familial trauma in the past. Therefore, you would be an exception, but not by very large standards. Something made your psych split off into different ways to cope with something, and since you are a loving, but distant family type of person, it had to be sometime beginning mid to late teens. Was it your father's death that pushed you over the edge? Or was it that your mother replaced him so easily?"

"You're wrong!" Matt shouted as John tried to cower in fear of Sherlock's deductions.

"I'm never wrong, John." Sherlock said skeptically. "Or shall I say Matt, right? The angry, troublemaker. Don't be so boring and just admit it."

"You think because you're so clever that you're always right?!" Matt shouted angrily, roughly poking Sherlock in the chest. "That since you have a large brain and a slightly above average IQ, you can try to stomp all over and bully them until you get your answers?!" Matt roughly shoved Sherlock into the nearest wall, causing a loud, thick thump to ricochet throughout the room as brick and bones slammed together. Sherlock closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, knowing that there was most likely going to be a bruise tomorrow. Matt slowly raised his arm and curled his hand into a fist.

'Matt! Chad shouted, pulling him from dominant position before he could do any physical harm to Sherlock.

"I guess the game is up…," Chad said calmly, crossing his arm over his chest.

"You are...?" Sherlock asked.

"Chad," he replied, glaring at Sherlock.

"Hmm..." Sherlock hummed, bringing his finger up to lightly tap his lip after softly pushing himself from the wall. "So, you all actually know about each other?" he asked and received small, stiff nod. "Would it be too much to ask to see John?"

"I think so," he said in a hostile tone. "You basically scared John back into his shell. He doesn't want to speak to you," he said sympathetically, speaking more to John than Sherlock.

Sherlock frowned. He didn't mean to make John shut down on himself. That was the last thing he wanted him to do. What if he triggered another attack? Damn him for trying to be so clever- he didn't see the signs of John shutting down.

Sherlock stepped into Chad's personal space and took his face into his hands. He brought his face close to his and leaned both of their foreheads together; feeling his breathe mingle with John's in the intimate embrace.

"I'm sorry, John," he whispered softly. "The last thing I wanted to do was make you nervous or scared. Please, don't be afraid of me, John."

Sherlock felt John tense before he slowly relaxed into Sherlock's hold. John closed his eyes before slowly opening them to Sherlock's nervous face. He blushed slightly and tried to sink away from Sherlock's hold, but Sherlock held his face firmly.

"John?" he asked, softly looking into his eyes.

"Yes, Sherlock, it's me. Do you think you can let go of my face now?" john asked awkwardly, half from the embrace and half from the want to not stain Sherlock's shirt with the oncoming landslide of emotions bubbling to the surface.

Sherlock did as asked and stepped out of John's personal space, but stayed close to him.

"I don't want you to ever feel you need to hide from me inside of your mind, understand?" he commanded softly but firmly.

John nodded softly and sank down to sit on the couch. "Please..." John begged softly, tears wanting to form in the corner of his eyes from the overwhelming emotions flooding through him. "What are you going to do?" he whispered, turning away from Sherlock. It was constantly his main fear whenever someone came close to finding out. No one had reached the correct conclusion earlier when the symptoms first appeared, though, so John had much more to lose that the definite conclusion was met. He guessed he shouldn't have been surprised that Sherlock was the one who should figure it out.

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked, puzzled.

John turned to look up at Sherlock, a few tears escaping down his cheek as he started to sniffle.

"Please, don't send me to a mental hospital or something. I-I... My whole life is based off of everyone not knowing that I have this disease… If the Medical Association or any other company knew, I could be sued for malpractice and be fired. I wouldn't be able to get any other job with a mental illness such as this on my rap-sheet. Please..." he hiccupped and wiped away the rest of the falling tears with his sleeve as he begged.

Sherlock bent to his knees and looked up at the small, hunched in on himself John Watson. Sherlock felt as if he was watching over a smaller brother, crying from the fear of the unknown future. Sherlock softly whispered to him.

"John, look at me," he softly demanded.

John slightly raised his head to look at Sherlock over his arm.

"Y-you're my friend, John. I would never let someone take you away if I could do anything about it. I won'tallow anyone to take you away," he said defiantly.

John sniffles, trying to collect himself, and softly smiled. Sherlock took a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to John.

"Now, can you please stop crying? You know I am no good at these situations," he asked, chuckling softly.

John laughed along with him and quickly wiped his face. "So, where do we go from here?"


	13. Trust Issues

###### 

"Well, I propose that I meet your alters and then we can decide where we go from here."

John's smile widened and he nodded eagerly. Sherlock stood up and stretched his legs. He walked over to his chair and sat down; pressing his fingertips together and resting them in his lips to think.

"Umm... Well, you know Matt. He-"

"John, when I said that I wanted to meet your alters, I mean _meet_. To experience them and they experience me. We can start with you, though."

"No, it'd be best if we conclude with me.."

"Okay then. Start however you want."

"Um... Chad. You can be up first," John said aloud, feeling weird now that he can say that out loud instead of in his mind.

Sherlock watched as John's demeanor changed into a more controlled individual. He crossed his arms and curiously glanced at Sherlock.

"Hello, Sherlock. You already know who I am, but I think that you need to know a few things about John."

"I'm pretty sure I know everything there is to know about John."

"I highly doubt that; especially since you just found out he had other personalities within him, so I think there are a few things you're still in the dark about. You may be good at what you do, but don't be cocky about it- especially when there are facts that not be so concrete."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, shocked, not expecting a tongue lashing. Clearly, this personality did not like him.

"I would say my job is the peace maker. I make sure that the other two in here don't try to stomp all over John."

'I resent that!' Matt shouted at Chad.

"I define myself as his conscious and help him decide important decisions. I am also his protective personality. I try to avoid situations that can harm John mentally and physically. You can guess how I feel about this little fiasco."

Sherlock hummed, devoting all of the information into a separate space in his mind.

"Alright, then. I will like to meet another personality, if you don't mind."

Sherlock watched as Chad looked at Sherlock sideways, turning up his glare to where Sherlock slightly shifted.

"I mean what I said about protecting John. Frankly, I don't trust you one bit. I know you will hurt John. Like you, I observe people and I have observed you extensively. I deduce that you will hurt him and I will have to be one to pick him up. If you think that you can just do that without any consequences, I want to warn you that you are wrong. I will _personally_ do you any harm you have done John."

Sherlock looked into Chad's eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he just couldn't commit any wrong doing to the person across from him. Even though it was Chad speaking and Chad's demeanor, he could only see John Watson looking at him. His chest constructed at any thought of someone hurting the actual John.

"I will do the best I can to not hurt John."

Chad looked at Sherlock's face, seeing he was serious. Even though he was not totally convinced, he nodded and allowed Matt to become dominant.

Sherlock saw John become more relaxed to where he slumped in to his chair and put his feet up on the coffee table.

"I cannot tell you how good it feels to finally be dominant _and_ free. Where are those cigarettes John is always hiding from you?"

"I'm guessing your Matt..."

He smirked at Sherlock. "Damn right. Bold and proud. What do you want, Sherlock?"

"To learn about you as a personality..." he said, leaning towards him.

"What are you, my therapist? Well then, this may take a while. Are you sure you have enough head space to remember this all?"

Sherlock looked at Matt sideways.

Matt sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You can pretty much guess what I am and how I'm like. I won't take no for an answer, so don't think I will," he said with a smirk.

Sherlock studied Matt for a second before knowing there was something he was avoiding something.

"You know how I am too, Matt. I know there is something that you're bitter about. Might as well spit it out. You act as of you don't have a care in the world, but there is almost a...bitter air about you.

Matt scowled at Sherlock. Sometimes, he did really hate this man. He pressed his lips onto a flat line and thought about how he was going to form his response.

"I'm not such a bad guy as everybody would think a bad personality would be... Why aren't I actually the dominant one? Is it because of my temper?" he asked, chuckling without humor. "John, he is a defenseless, weak, scared individual. He's not made to experience the world the other two idiots think is right for him; think it will get him back to normal or something. He needs someone who is tough and can quickly act or attack when the need be; not try to find a rock to hide under like a fucking coward."

Sherlock gritted his teeth forced a sigh through his nose; trying to keep his calm. He was supposed to hear this person out, know what this person was like to be able to pick his out later. No matter how much he wanted to defend John, he kept his opinions to himself. Re-detached himself from his emotions.

"Do you know he won't even write about the time you 'didn't' fuck? He says it's in the past, but I know that he's doing the same thing as he always does. Avoid possibly awkward situations. Probably wants you to really fuck him..." he said under his breath.

"Okay! Next person please!" Sherlock snapped quickly.

How would this man actually know what John was thinking. Given, he did know John longer and was closer, but they were virtually different people.

Sherlock brought his hands to his face and leans till the backs met his knees. His heart was beating too for someone sitting down, listening to a story about his best friend's desires about him...wasn't it? John wasn't looking for a relationship, and neither was he. Not to say there weren't times Sherlock briefly thought about that day, but it was mostly for getting information about John, his flat mate. Just because he sometimes wonders what it would be like to hold John in a more intimate way or wonder how certain parts of him taste...

Sherlock breathed in deeply; trying to get his heart rate and breathing back to normal. He felt a warm weight lightly touch his shoulder. He flinched away from the touch and quickly glared at the offending perpetrator.

"Sherlock?"

_-shy, worried, confused: John_

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief, but felt his heart rate pick back up slightly. Maybe he was sick. Maybe it was a overproduction of hormones and his body was trying to use a lot of them to regulate his body back to its normal function. Whatever it was, he needed to get over it fast.

"Are you okay?"

Sherlock swallowed and nodded up to John. "Please continue."

Even though John seemed skeptical, he reluctantly nodded and allowed Janet to dominate.

Janet smiled widely at Sherlock and grabbed his hand to shake enthusiastically.

"Hello, Sherlock. It's so nice to meet you personally instead of under the guise of John."

"Hello Janet," he said almost stoically. "What is your part in John's life?"

"Well, I control John's social life and education level. I make sure he has friends and allies whenever he needs it. I also determine how John's clothing is...presented."

Sherlock hummed and pressed his fingertips to his lips. Did this mean that Sherlock was Janet's friend or did John actually make an effort to befriend Sherlock as he had made an effort to befriend John?

"I must thank you a bit, though. You've help John open up more than we have been able to- and in a shorter amount of time. I think he feels a real connection with you. Thank you, Sherlock," she said sincerely, looking deeply into Sherlock's eyes.

Sherlock let the words sink into a special spot in his mind palace. He blinked at Janet and felt as if there was a... he wasn't actually sure what there was. Something...good. Something trustworthy about her. He could see why John allowed her to be the social one. She was easy going and calm. It was no wonder John had so many…acquaintances.

He cleared his throat. He'd have to be careful about this one's charm. If he let her, she could get whatever she wanted from him.

"Thank you, Janet. If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to John again."

"No problem," she said quickly, "Just, can you not stare so intently when we switch. It's a little bit creepy. Thanks."

John looked around the room, familiarizing himself in his surroundings, before turning his attention back to Sherlock. He gave him a warm smile that made Sherlock want to melt- even though he knew that it was impossible for humans to melt from a smile. Though, Sherlock suspected that, if anyone would melt a human being with their smile, John would be a master at the art.

Sherlock hid the small, awkward smile threatening to break out behind his steepled fingers.

"I hope it wasn't too..." what was John to call it? Creepy? Weird? "awkward...," he said, practicing the word itself. "Most are skeptical as it is, so I'd expect you, a man of science, to be even more so."

Sherlock frowned and opened his mouth to defense himself.

"No, no," John said quickly before Sherlock could even get a word out. "It's fine to be skeptical, I understand it isn't really a testable disease, but... I hope you can just...trust in me... I'm not making this up."

Sherlock let a second pass in silent. He slowly lowered his hands from his mouth and sits up straighter. He leans forward towards John and looks him in the eyes.

"You're one of the few people I do trust, John."

John blushed slightly and smiled at Sherlock. "Thank you, Sherlock," he said softly. "Well, I'm beat. I think I'm just going to head up to bed and call it a night. Goodnight, Sherlock."

Sherlock gave him a curt nod, already trying to process all that he learned from John today. It sure was a lot. He would have never thought that he would have received such an interesting flat mate. The world, it seemed, was being awfully nice to him; contrary to himself.

Sherlock filed everything he hadn't sorted through, and put it in storage for later filing. He walked into the kitchen and sat in his microscope. He turned to the back of his experiment notebook to John's section.

_Conclusion: John Watson has DID and is currently one of four alters._

Sherlock flipped to a new page and grabbed a red pen before writing _THE MANY FACES OF JOHN WATSON_. He wrote his current findings, going over the conversation he had just had with the subject in question.

Sherlock's pen slowly came to a halt as a realization dawned on him. A confused look came over his face as he replayed it again, for confirmation bases. He sat back and steepled his fingers against his mouth again.

John never said he trusted him too.


	14. It's all a Matter of Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still concerned over the trust issue, a bad night turns ugly when truths come out and words aimed to harm one another is said aloud. Is it only the lack of trust keeping their walls up or is it a few things in general?

###### 

John stomped up the stairs to their flat, fuming at the detective wordlessly trailing behind him.

This day started badly and just seemed to end in the worst way possible. Every single incident that day could have been avoided if Sherlock had just clued him in on a few small details...

Whatever this partnership was, it wouldn't work if Sherlock continued to not communicate his plans before time. If he always kept silent and expected John to know what to do, the same situation was going to keep occurring: one or both were going to end up battered, bleeding, and broken.

John looked into the bathroom mirror, examining his face as Matt scolded Sherlock on his lack of communication. Their argument became white noise to him as he dabbed a cold cloth to his blackening eye. He carefully examined his nose to make sure it wasn't broken and wiped a few cuts with antiseptics.

"I thought you would understand what I mean when I say, 'John, stay here.'," Sherlock said, bored with the conversation already.

Matt growled and slightly whimpered when John touched a tender spot. "You took off through a storm of bullets trying to get a purse on the other side of the room! You could have been killed!"

"The purse held all of the evidence we needed. If it would have been blown up, we wouldn't have a case..." he said nonchalantly and sighed. "Can I talk to John?"

"We still need to talk about this stupid stunt you pulled!" Matt shouted angrily.

"This conversation is boring me! I can talk to John about it if it's really that important..."

"Oh no you don't! You're just going to try to sweet talk Johnny boy into letting you off the hook by flapping your long lashed and flash some kind of smile that will make his heart melt," he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Sherlock frowned. "I would never use such a cheap tactic to get on John's good side. He'd see through that in less than ten seconds... Give him some credit. And what is this thing with you thinking I have this thing for John? I don't have feelings for anyone. He's… just my friend."

"Those looks you give him don't look friendly. Their calculating, but sometimes, you stare at him fondly a little too long for it to be just friends. Just because John doesn't notice doesn't mean I don't."

"You're trying to indirectly correlate staring into feelings of attachment for my flat mate. John knows I'm deep in thought. He knows I'm not staring at him like a girl crushing in a guy afar. Why is it that you always try to twist innocent nothings into something not platonic?" Sherlock demanded.

"Because, unlike naive little John, I know there are people out there that actually want to have him. They try all these tactics, follow him like a little puppy, and want to try to shield him away from the world, and try to make sure he's nobody else's but theirs." He said in a whine. 'You may not do it the normal way, but you still demonstrate symptoms of a man infatuated with him."

"And what is that?" Sherlock asked, a little bored but intrigued.

Matt turned away from the mirror and walked over to Sherlock until they were practically chest to chest. "Flustered- every time you talk to him domestically, you can't seem to get what you want to say out in a competent sentence without having to say it at least twice; yet, whatever you say something to anyone else, you can cut them down without even taking a pause in breath. You always blush and your ears turn red when he says something like a compliment to you. When he brushes up against you..." Matt said, lowering his voice and imitating every word he spoke, "Your breath catches in your throat," he said softly, hearing a small gasp from Sherlock as he trailed his finger down his arm intimately ," And you seem like you can't breathe. When he unconsciously stands too close to you to whisper in your ear..." Matt whispered as he leaned in to his ear, "I see the minute shiver that runs down your body. And when you're lips are awkwardly just an inch apart..." Matt said, raising his head until their lips were a hair's width away, "I just know that while John thinks it's incredibly awkward for you, you're just thinking about closing that small distance to these soft, plush..." he trailed off as Sherlock seemed mesmerized with the lips in question, subconsciously licking his own. Matt smirked and quickly forced a confused and irritated John into dominant position.

John looked up awkwardly at Sherlock's lips less than a millimeter from his. Why were they in such an intimate position when they seemed to be screaming at each other earlier? Were Matt and Sherlock...? No, no. It's impossible. Sherlock wasn't interested in anyone, and that seemed to be the sad truth.

"What are we doing, Sherlock?" John sighed, a little irritation leaking through.

Sherlock froze, trying to think of a way to explain their closeness.

"Umm..." He raised his hand to scratch his head but tapped a large knot forming on the right side of his forehead. He flinched and winced, looking upwards to try to see if the knot was noticeable.

John frowned and pulled Sherlock into the bathroom with him. He levied himself onto the counter and spread his legs.

"Come closer, I cannot reach you if you're standing a mile away from me."

He pulled a reluctant Sherlock in between his legs and carefully rubbed antiseptic on his cuts and wounds.

"This could have all been avoided if you had decided to stop trying to be a smart ass all the time," John scolded him.

"I- Ow! I didn't count for the fact that they actually used the weapons they smuggled. I would have thought it would have been a better and easier sell on the Black Market if the weapons weren't loaded. The imbeciles. It should have been an easy grab and call to Lestrade to make an arrest."

"Well, it wasn't, was it? If you would have told me what you were thinking before hand, I wouldn't have to be cleaning up our wounds...again," John sighed angrily. "I wouldn't have to worry about my flat mate or myself getting killed on such a daily bases."

Sherlock let a few seconds of silence pass between them before grabbing John's wrist lightly. "I would make sure nothing ever happens to you..." he said quietly.

John looked deep into Sherlock's eyes, looking for any unintended meanings. He snatched his wrist away from him harshly, murmuring under his breath as he continued to smooth antiseptic on his forehead.

"Did I- Ow! Not so hard, John. Did I do something that would contradict- Ow...OW!"

John dabbed Sherlock's knot harder and harder.

"John!" Sherlock shouted and snatched John's hand from his forehead. He held it in-between his hands and tried to look in John's eyes.

John looked away from Sherlock's questioning gaze and tried to take his hand back.

"John, you know I cannot know everything you think. If you have a problem, then you have to tell me."

John quickly turned to look Sherlock in the eye. "Why don't you just deduce me? Isn't that what you do to people who don't want to give up their secrets anyway?"

John finally succeeded in getting his hand away from Sherlock's grip. He pushed himself off the counter, thinking Sherlock would take a step back, but ended up with a face full of the consulting detective.

John looked up at Sherlock, giving him a questioning look.

"Why don't you trust me?" Sherlock asked softly.

John sighed. "Can we talk about this some other time? It's been a long day of getting shot at."

Sherlock didn't move and continued to stare down at John.

"Look, can't I ever keep one thing to myself?!"

"John, if you have a problem with me, I'd at least like to know so that I won't do it in the future. You know I'm not one for social etiquette."

John crossed his arms as best as he could and kept his eyes on Sherlock's face.

"At least tell me why you don't trust me."

John stared at the wall behind Sherlock, thinking about how to frame his response.

"I cannot trust you because you are untrustworthy."

"Thank you for being vague, John," Sherlock drawled sarcastically.

"Give a second to explain!" John quickly snapped. He stomped out of the bathroom and marched into their living room. "God! What I was going to try to say delicately was the fact that I can never count on you when you're there and I can never keep anything for myself. I'll admit I have trust issues, DID and all, but right now, you're one of the last people I can trust."

"Why?" Sherlock demanded.

"I hardly know anything about you!" John gestured wildly. "God, it's like you live in the darkness or something! You deduce every little detail of my life to help you get to know my past. What about the six hundred ninety-nine billion other people that cannot deduce someone?! It's not even the big things I want to know. It's the small things that just...egg me. Have you ever broken a bone? At what age did you lose your first tooth? I know almost nothing about your past!"

"I don't know everything about your past. I haven't deduced why you developed DID."

"You haven't tried, or you haven't figured it out?!"

"Semantics."

"How can you claim we are partners... when I feel like were strangers sharing a flat?" John asked, calming down. "I feel as if I'm here just make sure that you don't get yourself killed. Do you ever think about how that makes me feel?! How things like this make me think it's a miracle that you survived this long? " he asked, staring at Sherlock with pleading eyes.

Sherlock swallowed and looked at his feet. "If... if you don't want to go on cases anymore, I'll completely understand-"

"This isn't about the cases!" John said through gritted teeth.

"Well, what am I supposed to think it's about?!" Sherlock started to shout, getting frustrated from his confusion. "How many times do I have to explain psychopathic tendencies?! You'd think as a doctor, you'd understand-"

"Don't you dare try to blame this on me! I'm a surgeon-"

"Ex-surgeon," Sherlock interrupted.

"Not a psychologist! Plus, we both know that you're just using that psychopath crap as an excuse to detach yourself from life experiences that can potentially hurt you. Face it Sherlock, you're scared, just like the rest of us humans! You are also a coward for hiding behind a name instead of facing the problem head on!"

Sherlock glared and gritted his teeth. He marched forward until he was practically nose to nose to John, but John didn't back down.

"How can you possibly tell _me_ that _I_ am a coward, hiding behind something from the world when you yourself are living, breathing, proof of someone who is doing the exact same thing?" he said in a calm, low, dangerous voice that could cut through solid ice. "Your mind is so far gone, it had to create three other people just to deal with everything that you want to hide from. Constantly hiding between your alters... And you dare have the nerve to call me a coward? Kind of pot and kettle, don't you think?" Sherlock asked, baring his teeth.

John's breathing had become erratic as he allowed Sherlock to finish his little monologue. Now, it seemed too loud for the silent, tension-thick flat. He tried to slow it as he felt a single tear silently crawl down his cheek. He bit his bottom lip so it wouldn't quiver and shut his eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths and nodded his head, though, he wasn't really sure why.

He slowly opened his watery eyes and blinked back the tears to look at his flat mate. "Thank for that. At least I now know one thing about you... I finally know what you really think about me."

John wiped his eyes on his jumper and sniffled before quickly climbed the stairs to his room, slamming the door after he entered.

Sherlock tugged roughly at his curls and let out a loud, animalistic growl. Well, everything for this night had crashed and burned. John was upstairs, angry and crying because he couldn't his mouth or his anger (though, to be fair, John did say some hurtful things too)in check. He was probably thinking Sherlock's feelings for him were totally different than what was actually true. Scratch that, he definitely knew John was thinking it. John was Sherlock's only true friend... How could John not see that. He should have known him long enough to come to that conclusion on his own- not require Sherlock to say it to him. Also, those feelings weren't even scraping the bottom of what Sherlock was actually feeling towards John...if he actually knew what those exact feelings are. He still wasn't 100% sure. He sighed and paced, stalling for time so that John could cool off too.

He finally climbed up the stairs an hour later. He stared at the one inch-thick oak door that separated him and his flat mate and summoned up the courage to knock. He heard John shuffle around in the other side of the door, but it did not open.

"John," he called softly through the door. "I-I'm sorry, John. Can I come in and talk to you?"

He waited a few seconds, but the door did not budge. He signed and sat on the floor, his back to the door.

"I'm not leaving until you decide to open this door and talk me," Sherlock sighed. "Do you know how many murders are committed because the individuals didn't discuss the problem when it had first arisen? I really don't want to end up with my throat slashed or my tea poisoned because we're too selfish to talk to each other."

He heard John sit on the floor, but other than that, it was silent. He sighed and leaned his head against the wood, hoping that it wouldn't be a long night on the floor.


	15. A Promise and A Discussion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter transitions from a mental reality to actual physical reality. as i briefed in in chapter 1, john and all of his personalities have their own separate "rooms". this is where most of it takes place. think of it as a Sherlock mind palace, but its more as long hall with 9 rooms, one for each personality and what the personality is supposed to control (i.e. social, anger,etc.)and one main room. everything else (such as memory) just floats around their confines, looking for a way to break the mental barrier and "harm" John.
> 
> there's a spot in the chapter where its Chad and he's suddenly Sherlock. Its Sherlock from the beginning, but John's so mentally confused and hurt at the moment, he imagines the comfort of "big brother" Chad coming to protect him from his own feelings. Does this mean angst? i think so...

###### 

John slammed the door and clicked the lock. He couldn't believe Sherlock would actually say something like that. How...how he could stoop so _low_.

'You were also a little harsh to him too, John,' Janet tried to soothe.

John sniffled. "I know, but..." he trailed off, anger still lacing his voice.

'No buts, Johnny! You didn't do anything but tell the truth. That wasn't a crime,' Matt piped up.

"No, Janet's right," he sighed, releasing some pent up anger. "I was mean to Sherlock too. He's already emotionally detached. I just gave him another reason to not trust anyone."

'But he crossed the line when he used your MPD to help justify his argument. Friends don't do that to other friends, so what does that mean he views you as...?'

John frowned at Matt as he thought about his words.

'Stop filling up his head with such lies,' Janet scolded Matt.

'We don't actually know it's a lie. Sherlock could actually feel that way and could be just stringing him along. I mean, can you really trust a man who spews such... hatred and rage? He's obviously thought about those words for a while for them to smoothly roll off his tongue without any thought at a time like that.'

'Did you ever think he might have felt threatened with John attacking his verbally?' she asked, causing John to wince. 'They were both tired, they were both angry,-'

'And then Sherlock decided to practically use everything John had confided in him and use that information to hurt him!' Matt practically shouted as he cut Janet off mid-sentence. 'Can't you see? He's got poor little Johnny here right where he wants him. If he can easily manipulate and deduce secrets from his clients and the people he meets, do you really think he wouldn't try any of that freaky shit in Johnny boy? He's probably got him wrapped one of his long, skinny, white fingers.'

John's frown deepened and he started worry if Sherlock might have been playing him from the beginning. Uncertainty started to wash over him and he felt himself wanting to slowly close in on him.

'Way to make John want to open up to others by playing on his fears. What is wrong with you? I thought you liked Sherlock. Why all of the sudden decide to turn on him?'

'Would you believe me if I told you that he hurt dear little Johnny boy?'

Janet snorted and glared at Matt.

'Look, I have my own reasons!' he snarled back at her.

'You're supposed to be helping John get better and get back to his old ways! All you do is complain and make things worse. Why were you even created?!'

'Oh yes, Janet, because the gentle and kind bullshit is the way to deal with every and all situations,' he said with sarcasm dripping from his voice. 'There's a reason John created me, and that's because he doesn't use his anger to deal with problems that call for anger. Instead, he represses the emotion and before you know it, here I am, forcing him to use his pent up emotions,' he said with a devilish smirk. 'He needs me, and, if you and Chad actually knew the correct way to get John back on the right track, you would allow someone else to take dominant position and slowly introduce him back into society.'

'Why?!' Janet quickly demanded. 'So that way you could have enough time to take over like all of your previous attempts?!'

Matt's eyes darkened and he continually closed and opened his fist. John felt as if he should take a step back from the two that had clearly forgotten he was standing just a few inches away from them.

'I see why you take his side, now!' his voice practically boomed off the inner surface of John's mind. 'You're practically liked him. Always bringing up old shit to justify your own causes! Get over it! Yes, I tried to become dominant, but that's because I believe it would be the general good!'

'You were trying to exploit him!' Janet shrieked.

'I am trying to help him!'

"Shut up, just _shut up!_ " John shouted, causing silence to settle over them. "I don't care about you're guy's problems right now. It's not even pertaining to the subject at hand and all you seem to be doing is making noise! Can I, for once, think what I want to think without you guys trying to put your two cents in?! I want to think without your influence trying to persuade my opinion to what you dignify as the correct response!"

Janet and Matt stared at John, not used to this type of behavior. He was always so quiet and took a back seat to anything they suggested to him. This…this was something new entirely and shocked them into silence.

'John,' Janet said softly, trying not to startle John. She could see he was on edge. His shoulders were extremely tense and he seemed as if he wanted to bolt from the confines of his mind. He was visibly confused, angry, and scared, which she knew were a deadly combination when it pertained to John in these matters. 'John, we're supposed to help you in these situations. It's part of our job as your alters,' she tried to soothe in a calming tone.

"Have you ever thought that maybe I don't want your help?! That I want to think for myself and act how I think is the best way to act?!"

'John,' Janet tried to soothe again as she approached him.

"No," he says defiantly and shrunk back from her. He looked her in the eye, daring her to come closer.

Janet stared at him, her eyes questioning, and took a step back.

John shot one last withering glare at the two before quickly turning to his room and slamming the door behind him.

Outside, he vaguely hears murmuring, but is too distraught to try to figure out if it's real or just him. He sits on the floor with his knees bend and his arms wrapped around him in his small, desolate, mental room. It wasn't as full with mindless, imaginary things his other personalities stored in their own to make their stay more comfortable. He had his real room in the real world with real people. It was bad enough he would sometimes confuse his subconscious with reality. Putting more thought into making a home in his own mind would just encourage him to remain locked away from the world. He didn't think he'd be able to feel at home in a place that holds so many bad memories waiting beneath the surface anyway. They were always lurking underneath a thin surface, waiting for John to remember- waiting for an opportunity to bring him below the surface and torment him into mental submission.

He was impressed he'd made it this far without having to escape from an asylum.

He laid his head on his arms and tried to breathe through all the conflicting emotions battling inside him. It was too much to handle at one time and he was feeling slightly overwhelmed.

A warm, light weight wrapped around his shoulders and settled before enveloping him into a comforting hold. John peeked under his arm and looked at Chad's chest, not even bothering to question how he had gotten in here.

"Are you okay, John?" he asked softly. John tried to answer him, but Chad's chest made his response muffled.

Chad pulled away slightly to allow John room to breathe. John kept his head in his lap and softly mumbled his response.

"I feel... I'm not entirely sure an exact word will cover it. Can I make up a new one?"

Chad's eyebrows drew in into a confused pose.

John laughed without any humor. "Of course I can. It my bloody head. I bet I can make up a whole new language if I felt I wanted to. Then no one would understand me and I wouldn't ever get into any of these bloody situations." He sighed and dramatically let his head fall back roughly into his arms.

"John?" Chad asked, though, it mysteriously sounded like Sherlock.

John sighed tiredly and rubbed his eyes. He really is going crazy.

"I tried to tell him the first time we... I'm not even sure exactly, but I did tell him. I told him that I wasn't one for a relationship. _Any_ type of relationship. But here I am, neck deep in everything that was once Sherlock's...but now seems to be ours. What used to be Sherlock's adventures is now our adventures. What used to be my space and his chair now became our space on the couch," he said, sounding very confused. His right hand went to grip his hair. "I feel so incredibly stupid! Right before my eyes a friendship has grown, possibly something else, and I was ignorant enough to ignore it! How can he possibly demand anything from me when I feel he doesn't know anything about me?"

John rubbed his eyes, feeling like he was once again on the verge of breaking the fragile dam of tears.

"He doesn't know what I've been through that has caused me to be the way I am today," he sniffled. "I feel he doesn't know me, but who all of us make up. John Watson. Perfectly sane and functioning society member," he sneered with great distain before sighing once again. He hiccupped and tried to even out his breathing to regain control of his emotions.

"How am I supposed to trust someone who doesn't trust me back? I am mentally scarred, though I know that is only an excuse in my way, but still…" He reached down and scrapped the edge of his finger along the wooden floor boards between his legs. He turned his head to look into Chad's eyes that looked like Sherlock's. "How am I supposed to open myself up to someone who doesn't want to do it back?" he asked softly. "How am I supposed to suddenly get over the most horrible part of my life and allow someone back in? I was betrayed and I was harmed. I found out the world isn't as safe and loving as those who preach it to be. Now that I know, I'm not out there putting my heart on the line, hoping someone will take me for me and not break it." John hid his face further into his arms and started to slightly rock. "I don't think I'll be able to take it happening again," he said so softly, Sherlock had to lean in and strain to hear.

Sherlock sat back and looked at John. _Really_ looked at John. Poor, fragile, scared John. His friend and mentally insane partner. He took a deep breath and felt something in his chest constrict at the sight John was currently. He had done this to him. Him and his words. For the first time in a long time, he felt like a monster.

Sherlock enveloped John in a tighter hold and held him closer to his chest. "I swear, John, I swear...to never let this happen again. I will not allow you to ever feel this way towards me again, do you understand?" When John kept rocking, Sherlock pressed his palms to both sides of John's cheeks and made him look him in the eyes. "Do you understand?" he repeated.

John blinked up at Sherlock, expecting Chad to be here instead. He looked around his room- his real room -and wondered why he wasn't in his mental room anymore.

"Sherlock, what are you doing here? Where's Chad? I was just talking to him in my room. It was really weird," he said, a yawn escaping at the end. "He sounded almost like you...except he was him, and he held me almost the same way that you're holding me."

John rubbed his eyes, mentally and physically exhausted. It had been a long and stressful night. He settled deeper into Sherlock's chest, too tired to try to get into his bed. "How'd you get in?" he asked in sleepy conversation.

"I picked the lock", he said softly into John's hair, concern prominent in his voice.

John softly nodded and felt his eyelids become heavy. He let out another yawn and felt content listening to Sherlock's soothing baritone voice lead him to sleep.

"I will get you to trust me, John. Whatever it takes. I promise," Sherlock whispered softly and brushed his lips against his hair.

He felt John sag into him as he fell underneath the blanket of sleep.

Sherlock sighed and decided the next best course of action would be to get John into his bed. He put John's arm over his shoulder and placed his arm underneath his knees for support. Sherlock gently lifted John off the floor and carried him across the room to his bed. He softly set him down and pulled his covers over him, tucking him in tightly.

Sherlock sat on the edge of John's bed and looked down at his sleeping flat mate. He knew he had to do something to change the way John felt around him. He needed to show him that he would do anything to keep John safe from the world that wanted to hurt him.

Sherlock sighed and got into a thinking position and started to think.

###### 

Chad sighed deeply as he closed the door to John's room. He walked down the hall to a room closest to where John had all of the things Chad was supposed to watch over and be in charge of. He quietly shut the door to not disturb John and ensure he wouldn't wake up and hear them before turning to the other two into the room.

'Is he okay?' Janet whispered softly.

'I want to say yes, but I highly doubt it,' Chad sighed.

'John's never spoken out like that before,' Matt said, still feeling the shock.

'I...I think it's about time we've had that talk,' Chad said. The two other personality quickly looked at him, not actually believing what he was saying.

'Look, I know we all thought we might never have this talk because of the way John acted since his...experience,' Chad grimaced. 'but since he's met Sherlock, John seems to be becoming more independent.'

'You call that independent?!' Matt shouted suddenly. 'He cannot tell the difference between reality and fantasy!'

'Maybe it's not that he cannot tell the difference, but that he's in a mental struggle. Maybe...maybe he's subconsciously battling himself over his decision to let us think and act for him, or for him to think and act for himself.'

'He's right, though,' Janet said, actually agreeing with Matt. 'John's not mentally stable enough for us to leave him. It could potentially damage him more if we leave him. He'll think that even his mental alters have abandoned him.'

'I'm not just saying that we drop him as he is now... I'm just saying that we should wait and watch to see how John turns out. If he continues to improve...we should think about allowing John to once again become permanent dominant.'

Matt stood up quickly and angrily slapped his hand down on the table. Chad and Janet turned to look at him, but he didn't say anything, too angry to allow the words to form a coherent sentence. He angrily walked to the door and yanked it open.

'Matt.'

Matt turned to look at Chad.

'John's sleeping, so please, don't slam the door.'

Matt threw a disbelieving face before closing the door semi-softly.

Chad sighed and looked up at the ceiling. It was going to be a long night.


	16. How to Break Down your Walls

###### 

John blinked awake to a stream of light shining onto the right side of his face. It took him a minute to familiarize himself with his surrounding and remember all of the things that had happened the prior night. As words and the yelling began to flood his mind, John cringed and let out a groan that was muffled by his arm.

John felt something move beside him, the thing letting out a content hum. He flinched and tried to move from the invading presence in his bed, but whatever it was seemed to have wrapped its long, endless appendages around him tightly. John looked over his shoulder and encountered a sight he'd never expected to see in his bed.

Lying next to him, Sherlock slept with his head resting on John's right shoulder and his arms around his midsection. Sherlock's breath tickled his chin and neck and, even though his curls has a slight bed head look to them, John thought it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever woken up to- until he started to wonder what the hell was Sherlock doing in his bed. He started to replay all the drama that had happened the night previously, but couldn't find anything that would explain his flat mate sharing a bed with him.

"Shut up... Thinking too loud," Sherlock grumbled sleepily. He sighed again and shifted closer to John to try to steal his warmth.

"Umm...Sherlock..." John shifted, uncomfortable with his morning erection between his legs and an extreme need to relieve himself. A blush made its way up his cheeks and he felt hot with embarrassment.

"It's natural, John," Sherlock said nonchalantly, shifting so John could feel his too. John blushed an even deeper shade of red and felt ready to spring out of his bed at any chance possible.

"I know it's natural, me being a medical man and all, but I find it a big deal to have an erection when you're sharing a bed with someone. It's a common courtesy," the blond stated matter of fact-ly.

Sherlock hummed noncommittally, still not opening his eyes or bothering to move.

"Sherlock..." John whined and tried to twist out of Sherlock's hold.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open quickly at the initial friction of John's bum on his manhood and he speedily untangled his arms from around John's waist. He bit off a small moan as John quickly jumped off the bed and made his way to the bathroom. Oh, if John only knew the things he did to Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed harshly, trying to think about his current problem from all angles.

1) Sherlock had to get John to trust him  
2) Sherlock had to slowly coax John out of his shell so that he'd find out the actual cause of John's mental state  
3) Sherlock had to get John to accept the invitation to further their partnership into something more...[physical?] He wasn't actually sure.

Sherlock walked down to the downstairs bathroom to relieve himself. He wouldn't be able to think straight with his erection pointing at its true desire. John might get the wrong idea and think Sherlock's plan was only a ruse to bed him. He knew that John was probably questioning his motives currently, if the amount of time he is currently absent is anything to go by. John was usually much quicker than this.

Sherlock sighed as he finished up in the bathroom and made his way back up to John's bedroom.

###### 

John stared at himself in the mirror, freaking out as the last minute and a half played in his mind, stuck on repeat.

Sherlock+ bed+ arms wrapped around him intimately+ morning erections=?

He just couldn't figure out a reasonable explanation that could justify Sherlock sleeping with him in his bed. Did he try to take advantage of him after he had reached mental exhaustion? Or did one of his other personalities...

John felt a flush of jealousy rise throughout his body. How dare they? Did they pretend to be John to bed an unknowledgeable Sherlock...? But, it had seemed like Sherlock was in sync with all of his alters' personalities and would be able to tell if one of them were pretending to be him. So, then all acts last night would have been consensual. So, did Sherlock willingly partake in sexual activities with another one of John's alters? John felt his heart constrict at the thought. Did Sherlock even think about how John would feel the next day? Waking up to find that someone living inside your head used your body to have sexual relations with someone you cared about and worked with?

Of course not. Sherlock didn't care too much about him. John had told him flat out that he couldn't trust him. Maybe Sherlock was one trying to prove why he shouldn't.

'Shh... You're thinking too loud...' Janet grumbled sleepily.

John sighed. 'Why is everyone telling me that?'

'Cause it's true. Stop thinking of trivial things and be quiet. Nothing happened and you're overreacting as you always do. So please, shut up...'

"Then can someone PLEASE explain to me what is going on?" John sighed, extremely confused and frustrated.

Janet sighed, coming to terms with the fact that she wasn't going to get anymore sleep with John prattling on like this.

'John, nothing happened. I swear to you. You yelled at Sherlock, you yelled at us, that's about the most of it. I think you yelled yourself into exhaustion. Sherlock picked your lock and had to pick you up off of the floor. We were worried about you for a bit.'

"How does this pertain to Sherlock ending up in my bed?"

'How the hell am I supposed to know? He was brooding over something last night and got tired of thinking. I think he just decided to stay there in case any problems...arose.'

John sighed in understanding. 'Okay, so nothing happened. That's good,' he consoled himself. John took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down. 'So, you're saying that if I walk out that door and see Sherlock, I have no reason to be nervous what-so-ever?'

'That should be correct.'

"Okay, then," he thanked her half heartedly.

John turned from the mirror and looked at the door, hoping that maybe he'd be able to see through it and see what Sherlock was doing at that exact moment. Knowing that he couldn't, John let out one last sigh and opened the door.

###### 

Sherlock lifted his neck as John entered the room. He quickly scanned him and came to the conclusion that John had been staring at himself for the last fifteen minutes in the mirror. He was most likely trying to get one of his other alters to fill him in on anything he missed last night.

Then again, Sherlock thought, it probably wasn't the smartest idea to fall asleep cuddling up to your mentally unstable flat mate. He could see the look of confusion and suspicion written all over his face.

Sherlock sighed and rolled over into a sitting position. He stayed on the bed, not wanting to spook John even more than he was currently.

John walked over to the edge of his bed and sat down. They stared at one another for a few minutes, neither one of them wanting to break the fragile silence that lay between them.

'John, you've come this far. Just talk to him before I make you talk to him,' Janet threatened.

John swallowed audibly. "uhh..." started, wondering what to say."So, nothing too embarrassing happened last night, right."

Sherlock shook his head. "Is everything okay...inside?"

John gave Sherlock a sideways look. Sherlock had never enquired about him or his alters' health before. John felt his cheeks heat up at the sentiment.

"I'm not actually sure. I'll have to enquire about it later. So far, nothing too… I'm sure everything's okay," he said, leaving it at that.

Sherlock gave him a curt nod before clearing his throat. "So I have come to a conclusion. Since you constantly struggle with your trust issues, I have devised a plan to get you to slowly open up about such issues."

"How do you plan to do that?" John asked cautiously.

"I will slowly open up about my life. If you decide that you also want to share your life details, then that's fine. If not, that's also fine. We will both equally learn more about one another until we have successfully broken down any trust issues you have"

John stared at Sherlock with his eyebrows drawn in. He softly fingered his jumper in nervousness before he asked, "Just like that?" he asked incredibly. "You've been secretive about your life this whole time and now you act as if it's no big deal to open up about it. You're telling me that you're okay letting me into your life? For me to know about things that you let no one else even hint at? You're letting me know everything you've kept hidden and are agreeing to help me understand the things no one else understands about you? Are you even ready for such a commitment? To just throw it out there so nonchalantly…" John asked harshly, his anger getting the best of him. He stood up quickly, feeling a little bit dizzy from the shift in vertigo and all the information that was coming at him. It was too early for him to process at the moment. His alters were awaken by all the commotion, quickly picking up on John's discomfort. They could see how tense his shoulders were and how he seemed to want to just disappear.

"What the hell is going on, Sherlock? What are you doing to John to make him so angry so early in the morning?" Chad demanded, taking over from John. For all his patience, Chad wasn't a morning person. He had to slowly transition from being asleep to being awake. Any sudden disturbance onto the world of consciousness made for a bad morning with a pissed Chad.

"Chad…" Sherlock sighed, exasperated. His plan was backfiring before it could even fully leave his mouth. "Please allow John to dominate so I can talk to him. I don't want to talk through you."

"Then learn not to piss him off, which, in turn, pisses the rest of us off. Until then, you've got to deal with me unless you do some major ass kissing to bring him out of his shell."

Sherlock huffed softly. He stood up to his full height to loom over Chad. Even though he knew that it wouldn't frighten him into submission, he would use it to his advantage. He crowded himself into John's personal space and surrounded himself around him.

Chad blushed in embarrassment, but was determined not to give in. He folded his arms over his chest to create some space between them and tried his best to keep John from trying to dominate.

Sherlock grabbed one of Chad's hands in each of his own and pulled them away from his chest. He pressed his body against John's, feeling his pulse from his wrist and looked deep into Chad's eyes. He leaned in close, concentrating on any tremors as he leaned into Chad's ear.

"John..." Sherlock whispered, his breath tickling Chad's ear. John shivered. If only he could get Chad to _move_.

'He's trying to play you, John. Don't fall for it.'

'Shouldn't I be the one to determine that?' John asked shyly, not used to second guessing Chad's decision.

'John,' Chad tried to reason. You're setting yourself up for this guy to make you fall. Don't allow him to crush what we've all worked so hard to build for you.'

'Then...Maybe I need to fall.'

Chad's eyes grew wide, and then he became a bit angry. 'Are you telling me that you are willing to completely trust this guy?'

John quickly looked away from Chad, thinking over what he was going to say. 'I-I may not trust him now, but isn't he trying to help do what you guys have been trying to help me do. I may not give him my full trust, but... I think I trust him enough to pick me up if I fall.'

Chad looked at John angrily and didn't budge. John could hear Sherlock calling him out to explain himself. He would never get used to being in his head while feeling the physiological trembling of his body. He could feel warmth and need spread throughout him and he desperately wanted to see and feel why these feelings were occurring.

John looked straight into Chad's eyes, showing that he wasn't going to back down. 'Move, Chad,' John demanded.

Chad looked into his eyes and saw that he wasn't going to take his word on the matter. With a resigned huff, he reluctantly moved and allowed John to dominate.

Sherlock watched as John closed his eyes and his facial expressions began to scrunch up angrily. John gave a long sigh, releasing the tension of his face as it slowly relaxed into a neutral tone. His eyes opened to reveal John's type of personality as kind eyes stared up at him. Sherlock gave John a small smile and received a shy one in return.

"As I was saying before," Sherlock said softy, dropping one of John's hands and moved it to caress his cheek. "I don't mind sharing details of my life, if it's you who I'm sharing it with. No one else compares to you, John."

John blush slightly and desperately tried to hide it. Sherlock's hand felt warm and soft. Even his body was warm. He could feel it through his clothes, though, it felt as if he weren't wearing any. For a second, John wondered how warm he'd feel if he wasn't. Would he feel as if he were burning? Was his whole body like that, or only certain parts? Was there a stark contrast between feeling Sherlock with his fingers and his tongue? John felt his breath catch as he pictured Sherlock moaning and squirming under his touch. Would sex be different now? Now that there would be feelings involved instead of the thought of it being just a one night stand? Why was it so hot in his room? It can't be just him that felt it. Was it Sherlock that was over heating him? Man, he must be burning. God, now he was panting and he was pretty sure Sherlock could feel him grow half hard.

Sherlock could see that he was losing John, his panting was just confirming it, but Sherlock wondered if John wouldn't mind if he viewed how this, whatever John was doing, would play out. He could feel John slightly hard against his leg and wondered how John might react if he shifted it foreword just a little bit...

John bit off half a moan as Sherlock's leg slightly brushed against length, making it a bit harder. John stared into Sherlock's eyes, his pupils dilating as he heard him moan. No no no. This was so wrong... They said only once. He didn't trust Sherlock enough to be doing these sorts of things nor have these sorts of thoughts, even if he did feel like melting into Sherlock's touch.

Their small bubble burst as they heard the front door to their flat close. John quickly pulled away from Sherlock's grasp, separating their connection.

Sherlock continued to look at John as he turned away from him. He missed their intimate embrace and the feeling of John pressed up against him, but reminded himself that they were nowhere close to being THAT close. He'd have to allow John to break down his own walls. He didn't want John hiding into his shell every time he felt he couldn't handle a situation.

Sherlock walked to the door, but stopped before he left completely.

"I won't tell you when these... moments will happen, so you're going to have to be on guard John, and, I hope, that you won't think of me any different when this all said and done." And on that note, Sherlock made his exit to answer Ms. Hudson's calls.


	17. Meeting an Interesting Woman Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't view John badly. He really didn't mean to, but we know he's mentally unstable...

###### 

John trudged up the stairs after a long day at the clinic. It was a rare busy day and he had been on his feet the whole time. He had skipped both of his breaks and his lunch, so he was desperately hoping that Sherlock wouldn't have any plans tonight. He was confident that scientist hadn't been able to make pigs fly yet, so he knew there wasn't going to be any dinner on the table. Cooking didn't seem like it would be happening either, and he wondered of he'd be able to convince Sherlock to pick up takeout. He really couldn't be arsed to care.

John sighed as the key turned and clicked the lock open. He opened the door to a dark apartment and looked around suspiciously. He knew all too well than to believe that just because Sherlock didn't look as if he weren't home didn't mean he wasn't. He was probably testing him for some experiment he was conducting.

He heard a dull thud followed by a breathy giggle come from the den. John tensed and felt his breath catch in his throat. He couldn't tell what person made the noise, but he was definite that it didn't come from Sherlock. He felt his heart start to race and wondered what he should do.

'Slowly go for the lights...' Chad whispered softly to John.

John noticed his feet seemed to be rooted to the floor. He wanted to move, but it seemed that his body didn't want to respond. He willed his legs to move forward, but that would require moving closer to the where the unfamiliar sounds were coming from. They were soft, as if they came from a woman, but John knew that that didn't mean it was going to be safe. There were plenty of women in his and Sherlock's life that had attempted to kill them before. He didn't remember any of them sounding so...pleased, though. Oh God, what if Sherlock was experimenting with a prostitute again? He always questioned why Sherlock thought that it would be totally normal to ask the prostitutes for mouth swabs (He liked to deduce the number of "clients" and the life they lived by their DNA samples).They always called him a freak and then tried to steal anything that seemed valuable and would be able to hide. More than once John had come home to have to help fight off a hooker's pimp trying to get money out of Sherlock.

Another louder laugh floated from the room. John gulped loudly and walked towards the den. He took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself, and flicked the light switch on.

John couldn't believe what he was seeing. He blinked a few times, but the image wouldn't dissipate from his eyes. He choked on his own breath and he suddenly felt nauseous.

Sherlock sat on the couch, legs spread and open (but clothed, thankfully) with an attractive, dark-haired women sitting across his lap. She was thin, but not the sickly, drug-addled thin that most women working the streets looked like. She was well dressed and semi-proper, as if she were trying to impress someone. She sat facing him and clung to Sherlock intimately, her mouth less than a millimeter away from his lips. Even though Sherlock looked shocked at John's arrival, he didn't move to push her off of him.

John saw red flash before his eyes and, the next thing he knew, he was pulling the bimbo off of his flat mate's lap by her hair. He stood, shocked, holding a ball of her hair in his right hand. His personalities quickly fought to gain control of the situation and force John out if dominant. They all struggled with him, but John wouldn't budge.

'John, release her...' Matt commanded, trying to release John's grip.

John seemed to have short circuited for the moment. He noticed all that was happening around him, but he wasn't actually processing it.

Sherlock stared at John, matching his shocked expression. It had happened so fast, he hadn't had time to react or say anything. He slowly got a hold of himself, and stood up gracefully off of the couch.

'John, release her...' Janet growled as she tried to pry John's hands out of her hair.

'John, maybe she wasn't doing what you think she was doing,' Chad said, trying to talk some sense into him.

"John...," Sherlock said softly.

John finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and looked around the room. He quickly released her hair as if it were poisonous snakes and promptly apologized.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! I am so...sorry," he whimpered. He felt a flood of panic rise throughout his body. He felt himself start to tremble and his apologies slowly blurred together as he started to hyperventilate. He looked at Sherlock with watery eyes, praying that he wouldn't think of him as jealous or some kind of freak. He could feel an imaginary weight settle in his chest and dark shadows slowly blurred his vision.

"John?" Sherlock asked confused and concerned. He stepped around the woman and stood in front of a small and trembling John Watson. "John..." he softly soothed, rubbing his shoulders."It's okay, John. It was...just an accident, right?"

"S-she was all over you. She-she's dirty Sherlock," he whispered softly to him so that the woman couldn't hear. "I'm so sorry Sherlock..."

"John, relax, alright. Breathe with me. You're fine. You're just confused. Calm down and I'll be sure to explain everything."

"Please don't be mad at me...please don't be mad at me," he chanted softly.

"Never," Sherlock whispered softly. He lightly wrapped his arms around John's neck and held him close to his heart.

John sighed softly as the soft sound of Sherlock's heartbeat chased all his demons away. It grounded him to their own world where the outside world wouldn't be able to harm them. He felt a whisper of soft lips graze his forehead and blushed slightly. He didn't mention Sherlock's antics, instead concentrating on being able to face this woman after practically ripping out her hair for setting a finger on his flat mate. That was a definite no-no!

Sherlock guided John to the couch and gave John a paper bag to breathe out of before walking over to the woman to see if she was okay. John noticed that she didn't seem angry at him. He would have thought that she would have been livid and appalled at him for laying a finger on her. She could have been some important government official for all he knew. Whatever she was feeling, she was good at keeping her emotions in check.

"Really, Sherlock, I'm fine. It's not the first time someone has been angry at me before. Mostly it's some maid or random women from the palace that attacks me rather than a man...and I thought I was here as a favor for you," she pouted.

"S-sorry..." John apologized from his spot on the couch.

"No need to apologize, John. We all know that it was an accident. Now, if we may proceed, if that is okay with you Mrs. Adler? Or do you go by Mrs. Godfrey Norton?"

"Adler is fine," she smirked at him.

"Well, Ms. Adler," he said with a small sneer, "if you'd be so kind to take a seat," he offered the seat next to John.

"Thank you," she said cautiously and sat in Sherlock's chair across from John.

John felt his guilt increased and breathed harder into the bag. Sherlock rolled his eyes at Irene and sat down beside his flat mate. He placed a hand in his back and softly rubbed his tense shoulder until John relaxed.

John took a few more deep breathes, making sure he wasn't going to be sick, before taking the bag from his mouth. "I'm sorry," he apologized again. "I really did not mean to do that."

"John..." Sherlock lightly scolded.

"I know, I know, Sherlock, but some people actually apologize when they wrongfully attack a random stranger."

"Oh, I am no stranger, hun. At least I'm not to Sherlock," she smirked with a flirtatious brow wiggle.

John curled his hands into fist, trying not to let his potential jealousy fester. He didn't care to dissect his feelings right then and suppressed this event into his mind so he wouldn't have to think about it soon. He took another deep breathe to get a hold on his nerves before speaking.

"What is she here for, Sherlock?" he asked and tried to keep the malice out of his voice.

"She, John, is part of my past."

Sherlock felt John tense under his hand and tried to quickly explain himself before John formed the wrong idea about him.

"S-she is just a weakness of mine..." Sherlock watched as John turned toward him with sad, betrayed eyes. He mentally kicked himself and could already see the signs John eager to switch personalities with one of his alters.

"John..."

He turned away from Sherlock, changing his demeanor and stature that told Sherlock that John had left the building. Sherlock sighed and buried his face in his flat mate's shoulder, slowly trying to dissipate his anger at himself. God, how did this turn out so wrong so fast?

"Sherlock," Matt scolded, leaning into him to whisper in his ear, "What are you doing to poor Johnny boy? It feels as if he's about to pass out."

"Remind him when I told him about opening up more...tell him it's one of those times. Everything will be explained if he comes back out."

Matt nodded and tried to reason with John to become dominate.

"Are you nuts?" he practically cried. "I've attack someone who's one of Sherlock's ex-something. Even though he looks as if he's all fine with that, he'll probably never forgive me."

"Sherlock is the one who's begging for you to come out. I think he's forgiven you."

"How could I be so naive? How could I possible think that Sherlock could isolate himself from any type of relations for so long? I should have known that he'd have exes in his past."

From her perch of Sherlock's chair, Irene viewed the pair across from her, a smirk on her face. It almost seemed as if the man in front of her was a totally different from the one she'd met in the past- at least towards this man. He continually reassured him and tried to make the man beside him as comfortable as possible. Her Sherlock would never do such a thing.

The man besides him, on the other hand, was a totally new mystery. She couldn't quite figure him out, but could see jealousy written all over him. It was obvious to everyone but Sherlock, which seemed out of the norm. If any of the three were to tell what any of them were thinking, it would usually be Sherlock.

Irene loudly cleared her throat, attracting the attention of the two across from her.

"Sherlock, be a dear and put the kettle on. I want to have a little talk with your companion before we get started."

Sherlock stiffed, but reluctantly got up and headed towards the kitchen. As he passed her, he stopped to whisper in her ear.

"This person is special, Irene. Don't pull any of your usual stunts. He does not handle things the same way you and I do."

Irene fake pouted. "And I thought I was special to you. How could this man replace me so easily?" Sherlock opened his mouth to speak, but quickly cut him off. "Actually, I think I'll find out myself," she said, devilishly, and shooed Sherlock into the kitchen.

Irene stood and looked down at the sad thing they called a man in front of her. To be fair, he did seem more...what is the right word? Resolved? Almost like he was trying to restore his broken pride by not saying or doing anything. He looked together, but he clearly wasn't together mentally.

Irene sat on the opposite end of the couch, giving her the perfect place to listen to see if Sherlock was spying or to get away if John tried to attack her again.

"Hello," she started curiously.

John eyed her cautiously and Matt scooted as far away as the couch would let him.

"Now, now. At least hear me out. After all, you did attack me. I should be able to say a few words."

John cringed and Matt scowled. He crossed his arms into a defensive position and eyed her curiously.

"Now, deary, I just want to let you know that I have no romantic feeling for Holmes, and I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual. We never...connected like that; we just like to flirt a little now and then. There are no emotions behind it. I just like to gloat. I was a puzzle too great for the Great Sherlock Holmes to master-"

"I highly doubt that," John defended, his voice leaking through Matt's mouth before he could stop him.

"Now, now! Don't interrupt. I do hate rude people," she scowled at him.

Matt sat quietly and waited for her to continue.

"Now, Sherlock will probably want to explain whole thing, so I'm not going to say too much more." Irene listened for the sound of teacups clanking before she started again, careful to whisper only so John could hear. "He's all yours, okay? So you don't have to worry. I have my own love," she showed off her wedding ring, "and, apparently, he has his."

John blushed and Matt fought to contain it. "I...we're not-"

John was cut off by Sherlock's rapid entry into their den. He set down the tea on the coffee table roughly and sat between Irene and John. Irene rolled her eyes, taking the hint, and moving back to Sherlock's chair.

"Have a nice little chat, did we?" he practically sneered at her. Irene rolled her eyes, familiar with Sherlock's attitude towards her.

John pushed into dominant position, but was closely monitored by his other personalities.

"Sherlock, don't be rude..."

Sherlock's attention quickly snapped back to John. He gave him a sideways look and a small smile threatened to make its way onto his face. "John, you're back," he said in an almost shocked tone.

"Y-yeah. I- Matt explained to me what you said about me coming out," he leaned in and whispered so only Sherlock could hear.

"There is only one condition I have for these 'little talks' of ours. One cannot judge the other based on any information presented or by anyone we bring from our past. Is that a fair deal?"

John nodded. "I'll try my best."

"Good man," Sherlock said, enthusiastically patting his thigh softly and once again stood up. "Now that we are all on the same page, let us begin."


	18. Meeting an Interesting Woman Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this tale is a little book version, a little show version, and a minute tweak of imagination. This is how many people (including myself) think this is how Doyle interpreted Irene. i agree 100%. she doesn't get her strengths with a whip. its with her mind. way more sexy :)

###### 

Irene crossed her legs and settled deeper into the chair to make herself more comfortable. She wondered if he'd tell the story (the complete, truthful story) or if he'd want her to do it. It had been a long time since their first meeting, but she was positive she knew every detail on how they met. He'd probably tell it though, adding little inconsistencies that would make him look good in front of his flat mate. Regardless, though, what had happened had been a serious blow to his pride. Despite the fact, It seemed that he had gotten over it if he was now going to open up about the experience.

Sherlock walked away from the two and stood in front of the mantel, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to say. It was one of the things he hardly talked about; right under drug use and his childhood. He had never felt connected with anyone enough to fully open up to them. They were all _unworthy_ of learning his truth, but it seemed something had changed. Now, this one man he had met less than a year ago was about to gain more knowledge about him than most knew...and he wasn't about to lie by saying that it didn't scare him. It terrified him. After this whole experiment was said and done, whatever he said was out there. John could interpret it in any way he liked. He could use it against him if he dare wished. It was essentially handing over the hammer that would break down the walls he had spent his whole life building.

A vague, familiar presence of voices broke through his mental preparation. Sherlock quickly turned around to Irene telling John the story he was about to tell. So far, though, he was surprised that John didn't look disappointed or disgusted, his face was almost neutral.

"Irene!" he chastised through gritted teeth.

"What?" she slightly whined. "You went off into la-la land and left us waiting for you for _thirty_ minutes."

"I am still the one telling John about my past. You are here so he gets the full experience and gets to meet the person who I am talking about. Other than that _shut up_!"

Irene pouted and crossed her arms over her chest.

Sherlock straightened his suit and regained control over his emotions. He looked down at John and sighed before beginning.

"It all started when I was about 20 years old. A young man wearing well tailored, expensive clothing came to me with a case. When he started to speak to me, I quickly deduced that this man was not my client. He had the look, but his natural style of speech and grace screamed lower-middle class." Sherlock sighed at other people's stupidity. "I listened to his story, though. He told me about a woman. A woman with certain photos that could destroy the impending marriage of my client. When I asked what kind of photos, he became hesitant and suspicious. Of course, it was around this time that I had deduced who my actual client was. The Grand Duke of Cassel-Felstein himself. When I told him this, he became tense and for a minute, I thought that he would use violence against me, but he let out a long sigh instead.

"'I now believe you are the man my employer is looking for. Was it something I have said?'

"'There are always subtle hints that will give a person away,' I told him slowly.'With you, though, it seems those hints were more than subtle. They were screaming out to me. The largest of them being the remaining crumbs of whatever last fast-food establishment you had just departed. Not even the poorest of dukes would go somewhere so...disgustingly grotesque and cheap," he sneered at the word.

"He seemed to consider this before letting out a hearty laugh.'Thank goodness, that is a load off my chest. Now, if you take the case, we would pledge your silence of this situation until 2 years past. After that, such a scandal will hardly be news.'

"This seemed like one of those easy run-of-the-mill cases and I was eager for mental stimulation, so I took it. He told me about Ms. Adler's services and, after a few internet searches, I was able to find her. The only thing I didn't count on was that she had also searched me-"

"Got to know who my competition is, honey," Irene cut in. "You never know when a pretty face will come knocking on your door."

Sherlock scowled at her before continuing. "I decided that the best course of action would be to don a disguise and go over to see what kind of security her apartment had. I borrowed a cab from one of my past clients and slowly drove down the street from her house-"

"Sherlock! Do you even have a license?" John asked, shocked.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the interruption about something so trivial. "Anyone can drive, John. It's common sense."

"But you could have hurt yourself!"

Sherlock smiled. Always concerned about him and not the fact he could have hurt someone else. "Yes, John, I do have a license, but why use it when you live in a city where people are eager to do it for you for such a cheap price?" John processes that thought for a second before giving a nod for Sherlock to continue.

"To make a long story short, when I drove by, a man and Mrs. Adler exited and immediately pulled my cab over, demanding I drove them to the justice of the peace's office. Even more outrageous was the fact that they asked me to be a witness at the ceremony."

Irene scowled at Sherlock as he let out a deep laugh. "Oh yes, very funny. You just _had_ to ruin the most important day in a girl's life. Acting like a jerk during our vows, groaning when my husband pledged his eternal love... it is not funny. Don't I deserve happiness?"

"The life of a blackmailer doesn't deserve to be happy if their happiness gets in the way of someone else's," he defended.

"I deserve to be happy," she pouted.

"Oh contraire."

"I think she's right," John's small voice broke through their quickly escalating argument. Sherlock quickly turned to John, betrayal in his eyes. "Everyone deserves happiness, Sherlock. E-even you." John blushed and looked down at his conjoined hands.

Sherlock looked at John, trying to deduce why he would say something so sentimental, but his personalities' wall were up, keeping him for being able to read anything. Sherlock blushed and heard Irene clear her throat. Sherlock followed suit and willed his cheeks to stop darkening. "Thank you, John," he said softly. Sherlock straightened himself up to his full height and continued.

"After dropping off Mr. Norton, on our way back to Mrs. Adler's house, a few of my paid help started a small fist fight. Pretending to be a good citizen, I ran into the crowd. I had one of the larger men carry me out as if I hurt. She immediately invited me in," Sherlock smirked at Irene. Irene glared before smirking back.

"Let's not forget about what happened after..."

Sherlock's smirk fell and quickly turned into a scowl."Yes... Well, using a small explosive, the room quickly filled with smoke. Mrs. Adler, here, thought her apartment was on fire and ran to her safe where the photo was kept. One of her maids, the stupid imbecile," he grumbled, "thought it would have been a good idea to open the window, clearing my smoke screen.

"I have to give my props to Mrs. Adler, though. For all of her beauty and sexuality, there is a brain almost as great as mine in there."

"I know there's a compliment in there somewhere..." Irene interrupted.

"I had hypothesized that it would be an easy grab, but I now know not to believe women are fragile and stupid. Before I could even get off of the couch, a needle was injected into my neck. When I woke up, I was bound to the couch and the house had been swept clean of Mrs. Adler's presence; they had left the country before I was able to inform the police."

Sherlock paced over to the mantel and opened a small wooden box. He pulled out a picture, staring at it angrily as if it had committed a crime against him, before handing it off to John.

John didn't know how to react to the picture before him. His eyebrows slowly rose into the fringe of his hair as he stared at it. Sherlock lay, bound to the couch, drugged and clearly out of it, as Irene lay seductively over him; her tongue traced his lips in an overly sexual way. John frowned and didn't look at Sherlock as he handed the photo. He felt his stomach twist and his heart clench. Even with Irene's reassurances of innocent flirting, it still hurt to see Sherlock in that way with someone else.

"Be happy all I did was drug you. Believe me, if I hadn't just got married, I probably would have like to see a little more...skin," she purred and winked at him.

John brought his knees up to his chest. He wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his cheeks on his knees. He sighed and fought away the feeling of wanting one of his personalities to be dominant.

Sherlock heightened his scowl at Irene and continued, ignorant of John's discomfort. "The only thing that was left was that picture, John. This one picture to remind me of my failure; of how I mustn't be cocky. It was one of the few times I have failed my client, but it was the most important. I was beat by _a woman_ , John, _a woman_. One that could match me wit to wit and the worst part was the fact she was only doing it as a power play! She didn't want money, she didn't want riches, she just wanted to gloat! To rub her femininity and my short-comings in my face! And that," Sherlock was practically shouting as he neared the end of his narrative, "that is why she is and will always be known as _The Woman_! The Woman who beat _me_!"

Silence wrung out in the small flat. The only sounds were of Sherlock's panting and John's uncomfortable shifting. Irene smirked at Sherlock. Clearly, she had, excuse her language, fucked him over, and badly. It was almost sweet how she had made herself a little home inside his head. A forever presence. It was kind of sexy.

Sherlock took a deep sigh and forced himself to relax. He looked at John and whispered softly, "And _that_ is why she is a weakness of mine." Sherlock looked down at John and became confused. He didn't remember when John started to shut down on him. This was the second time that night he has caused John to want to curl in on himself. He couldn't, for the life of him, though, figure out why. He hadn't thought this particular narrative was too...traumatizing. Sherlock walked over to put a comforting hand on John's holder when he spoke.

"Don't touch him, Sherlock. He's getting through this on his own. Just...give him a minute."

"Was it something I said, Chad? Does he not like who I am now?" Sherlock asked suspiciously, anger lacing his voice a bit.

"Calm the fuck down, Sherlock. Don't get your pants in a twist. Let him process it and he'll be able to tell you what he thinks."

"Do you know when he'll be done, Matt?" he growled.

"How the fuck should I know. He's never done this before, so, it's all up to him."

Sherlock perked up at that. John was doing something new? It was true that he mostly confided in his personalities when he had a problem or expressed a specific thought, but John had never expressed thought in his own free consciousness. He was slightly interested and slightly afraid. Currently, this could go either way.

"Chad? Matt?" Irene inquired softly from her chair. Sherlock turned to her, completely forgetting that she had been here the whole time. "Who are they?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, quickly weighing the opinions of whether it would be a good idea to tell her John's secret.

"My flat mate has Multiple Personality Disorder. He has three other alters that...guide him along though life."

Irene stared at Sherlock, confusion clearly marking her face. "Sherlock..." she whispered when it finally clicked, her face going slightly pail."A word."

She got to her feet and quickly escorted him to another room. "Sherlock, what do you think you're doing?" she shouted in a hushed whisper.

Sherlock scowled at her. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play stupid. Even you just said that I have a brain compared to yours. Please, please tell me you are not using him for one of your 'hobbies'." Sherlock shuffled from foot to foot, ignoring Irene's gaze. "I cannot believe you!" she shrieked. "How dare you use this man, who clearly trust you and likes you, as an experiment!"

"John and I are nothing more than friends. I give him excitement and he gives me the rare experience of someone with DID. That is all. Why is everyone so invested in making our partnership into something more?!"

"And what about your little _experiments_? What do you think will happen when he finds out about them? Did you even consider what he'd think when he finds out the one person he trust and finds protection in betrayed him like everyone else?! Think of what this will do to him. Do you know the damage he must have received to be this far gone?"

"No, but that's what I'm trying to find out."

Irene looked at him shocked before giving him a well deserved slap. Sherlock back-tracked the last few sentences in his head.

"I meant that I wanted to know why he is like this. Not to see how he'd turn out if I betrayed him. I know this may come as a shock to you, but I try my best to _keep_ John from feeling scared or betrayed. It's more interesting to see how John acts when we are on a case rather than how he acts when he's hurt and betrayed."

Sherlock sighed, not wanting to think about that, and softly scratched his head. Irene turned to the front table and picked up Sherlock's red experiment notebook. "Then get rid of this. Because, if he sees this..." she didn't even know how to finish the statement, but they both knew it wouldn't be pretty.

"Sherlock?" John's voice rung out from the living room.

"I'll be there in a second," Sherlock called from the other room. He took the notebook out of Irene's hand. "If you may please show yourself out, I need to get back to my flat mate."

Irene wondered if she should say something more, but a small buzzing sound coming from her clutch interrupted her. She looked for her phone and read the text message displayed on the screen.

_Waiting outside. Need to go before someone is back on our tail._

Irene sighed and texted back her response before heading to the door.

"Don't screw this up, Sherlock. For the first time, you look happy...and healthy. This man is good for you."

Irene shut the door before waiting for a response. She quickly walked down stairs and looked out the door to find a black cab waiting for her. She opened the door, expecting to find her husband sitting inside, but was met by someone she had never expected to be there: Mycroft Holmes.

"Hello, Mrs. Adler." She felt rough hands shove her in the car and the door slammed shut. Mycroft sat across from her, calmly sipping tea, as she picked herself up off of the ground.

"What do you want, Mycroft? Where is my husband? We have a flight to catch in less than an hour."

"I would like a little information, Mrs. Adler. Then, you and your husband will be released and extradited from Britain to wherever you desire."

"And what information are you looking for?" she asked suspiciously.

"I would like to know everything you have learned about Dr. John H. Watson."


	19. I Need Something (A Kiss Will Do)

John looked up as Sherlock re-entered the room. He was a paler than his usual pale, but, even though he wanted to ask what was wrong, John didn't think it was his place to comment on the change. He smiled weakly to his flat mate and gave him a small wave.

"Where's Irene?"

Sherlock stiffened, the conversation too fresh in his mind. He held the notebook closer to his chest and smoothed over his facial features to something more passive and neutral.

"She...had to leave. She would have been late for her flight."

John frowned. "Was it because of me?" he asked softly.

A flash of pity crossed Sherlock's face; too quick for John to be able to pick up on it.

"No, John," Sherlock said quickly. He walked over to flat mate and tried for a compassionate tone. "It's never your fault."

"You don't have to lie to me, Sherlock. I can take it."

Sherlock highly doubted that. "I'm not. I wouldn't lie to you John," he mentally crossed his fingers. His un-consensual experimenting wasn't too big of a lie, he thought. You really couldn't count it as a lie at all. It was more as if he were keeping a secret rather than a lie. John wasn't being harmed in any unchangeable way. Plus, as long as John wouldn't find out, no problems would arise that could damage his friend anymore than what he currently was. Irene hadn't known Sherlock long enough to know what kind of concealment spots he had in and around the flat or how sneaky he could be. He did almost everything possible to keep john from finding out. He knew John somewhat trusted him enough to not go snooping in his stuff.

Sherlock sat down next to John. He turned and looked at John expectantly, but not too hopeful that he would open up.

John squirmed under Sherlock's gaze, but wouldn't convince himself to open up. He couldn't. It wasn't time, but he felt guilty that Sherlock had confessed and he could give nothing in return. They had covered some ground, but not nearly enough for John to throw all caution to the wind. He felt trapped and a bit frightened. He wondered how he could develop so much anxiety from just a stare. He couldn't deal with it and could feel thicker defense walls rise in his mind. He just...he had to change personalities.

Sherlock saw the small tremors start. It would have been invisible to most people, but he saw it as clear as day. He felt a small pain in his head; almost a annoying throb that would turn into a headache if he didn't stop. He knew his almost nonexistant conscious was telling him to not pressure John, but he wanted to push a little bit more. He knew he'd promise John he'd be patient, but when had he ever been patient in the small time he had known him? He needed something, anything that he could use to lead him closer to John's core. To help him understand why John had developed this mental split.

Sherlock quickly scanned his mind for anything that he'd be able to do entice John to open up.

"John..." he gave a deep but slight whine that he knew John couldn't resist. That whine had gotten him many favors regardless of whether John had said no to him earlier. He only brought out the whine and pout when he knew John was especially unwilling to do something.

John tried to take a deep breath and to arrange his thoughts in order. He knew that Sherlock wanted some information about his past, but... He started to hyperventilate. He didn't like being forced into a situation; particularly this situation.

Sherlock could tell that his plan wasn't working. John seemed more drawn in than before. He searched his mind for any non-useful but relevant information. He felt slightly panicked since he couldn't come up with an answer. He always had answered to almost every question. This was a little off putting.

He reached out to John. Touches were always comforting, his mind supplied. He reached out to place each palm onto each of John's cheeks. He tried to look deep into his eyes, but John kept pulling away. John closed his eyes and scrunched up his face. He tried to twist away from Sherlock's touched; he couldn't stand trying to being coddled like this by a man who clearly wanted one thing whether he wanted it to give it or not.

Sherlock felt his last chances slipping away fast. He could tell John was leaving him for his own headspace. He couldn't think of anything else that could be useful in this situation. Running on instinct, Sherlock dove into John's personal space and smashed their lips together, cutting John's lip on impact.

Sherlock wasn't an avid kisser. He was more the type that experienced it once, made notes about it for future use, and never did it again unless absolutely necessary. The fact that he remembered the use of this dull activity surprised. Yet, it wasn't- dull that is. With a [reluctant] John, it was almost...pleasurable, in a weird, coaxing way. He almost felt a little self-conscious in his inexperience. Sherlock gave a tentative lick at John's bottom lip, asking silent permission instead of forcing his tongue in John's mouth in his haste to keep John present. He hoped it was the right move.

John gasped, shocked at the wet muscle wanting to invade his mouth. He didn't understand how they had gotten in this position. One moment, Sherlock is hounding him for answers, the next, Sherlock is trying to stick his tongue down his throat; it's almost as if he's searching for the answers himself. The sensation itself wasn't so bad; he had been kissed my many people before everything that had happened, but it had been so long ago, before he had developed his other alters. Since then, he had kept himself from developing any type of relationship that could lead to this. As Sherlock's tongue slowly slid against his, John couldn't help but be a little bit curious. He slowly shut his eyes, giving into the sensation, his tongue sliding against his flat mate's.

It was stimulating, but a little too stimulating. It had started off unsure and curious, but once Sherlock found that John wasn't immediately slowly giving in, he became more confident. Sherlock slid his left hand into John's short, blond hair, pulling him as close as he could without hurting him. God, he hadn't known he had wanted to do this so badly. Since the first time he had met John, he had thought it would be a passing faze, but now...

John felt like he couldn't breathe. There were too many emotions flying around, making him dizzy and anxious, but gave him butterflies in his stomach. He couldn't decide if he wanted to encourage him or wanted to push him away. Sherlock was sending him mixed signals. Sherlock was the closest person he'd consider himself as having a relationship with, but he couldn't trust Sherlock's motives behind him. He wasn't about to ignore years of experience for one moment of pleasure.

Sherlock slowly melted into John. He felt content as the kiss took a slower turn instead of desperate passion. His hands trailed on any small expanse of skin he could find; his neck, his shoulders... As Sherlock's hand trailed to expose a scarred collar bone, he suddenly found himself being shoved against the arm of the sofa. His eyes snapped open as John scrambled off the couch and put as much space between them as possible. Sherlock stared at John, disheveled and lip kiss swollen. He stared back at Sherlock, tense and wiping his hand on the back of his hand. Sherlock felt his heart sink at that. Of course John was disgusted at being kissed by someone like him.

"What the hell, Sherlock! I don't roll like that!"

"Matt?" Sherlock panted, confused.

"Duh! Do you know what you're doing! I'm not gay! The legs that just walked out the door, that my type! Shoot, if they would let me, I'd allow her to walk all over me if I had one night of passion with her."

Sherlock's eyebrows knitted together in deeper confusion.

"W-what?"

Matt sighed and rolled his eyes. "We don't all have the same sexuality, Sherlock," Matt explained slowly. "I like a different gender than the other alters... I'm not homosexual."

Sherlock couldn't get his head around the information given to him. He blamed it on the lack of oxygen from the kiss. His brain wasn't back on line yet. "Y-you...?"

"Yes, I like women, Janet likes men... No clue about the other two. John pretty much has to deal with both sexes whether he likes his body being used like that or not. I think he's bi-sexual. Idk, he's jumpy around both sexes, so you never know. Chad… he's never really had the chance to see which he likes. He's always too busy trying to control all of us."

Sherlock blinked a few times up at joh- Matt. He quickly nodded before springing off the couch towards his bedroom. Though it wasn't much, it was an important (and interesting) detail about John that needed to be put in his experiment notebook. Dropping all common courtesy, Sherlock slammed his bedroom door, leaving a confused John standing in the middle of their living room.

'What was that about?' Janet asked, also confused.

John shook his head and wet his lips. "I-I have no idea." He slowly brought his hands up to the small tear in his lip from Sherlock's teeth. He didn't know whether to make heads or tails of what had happened on the couch, but he hoped he wouldn't regret it in the future. He wished Sherlock wouldn't act so rash during situations like that either. It always caused situations to be worse than they would have currently been. He knew Sherlock didn't care about him in that way, so he didn't understand why he was playing these mind games with him. The small touches and closeness were nice, but they always hurt a small part of John when he had to remind himself that it wasn't real. Maybe he had to have the personal bounds talk with Sherlock again.

John ran his hand through his hair and sighed. This day had emotionally drained him. He needed a cup of tea to soothe his nerves.


	20. An Unsure Revelation (to Oneself)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry and thank you for your patience. its hectic around here. thanks for the continuing support and here's a long, lengthy chapter filled with confusion, revelations, backstabbing (kinda), and an interfering brother

###### 

Aside from the kiss, Sherlock made no further advances in trying to even touch John, which made him more confused as the days went on. Maybe he had sent him a mixed signal or maybe Sherlock just didn't like him now. John spent most of his time trying to figure out where this problem started with his alters.

'I think this all started when you actually agreed to living with this guy. Running around... trying to catch murders... I don't understand what made you agree,' Chad said thoughtfully.

"I just... I felt something spark when I saw him chasing that man...I felt as if...I was needed; that something good was about to happen that would change my life for the positive."

'That's all?' Matt asked, skeptical. John blushed and Matt showed a shark-ish smile. 'Come on. Tell me you weren't turned on by that smile or that face...'

"I'll admit I might have found him slightly...attractive, but there is more to him than meets the eye, apparently."

'Just admit it, John; you have a crush on him...'

'A crush!' Janet chirped, surprised. 'Oh, John, no wonder you have been so down recently. You've been starved of his touch.'

John sighed. "I do not have a crush, you guys."

'Why would John possibly have a crush on someone [like that?] ?' Chad asked.

"There's nothing wrong with liking Sherlock," John defended, drawing his eyebrows in confusion.

'There's nothing wrong,' Chad said quickly and calmly. 'I'm happy that you have learned to trust someone enough to start to develop feelings towards them...but does it have to be Sherlock?'

'What's wrong with Sherlock?'

'Nothing, nothing,' he said soothingly, 'but...I just do not trust him. I think he'll end up hurting you in the end.'

'Do I detect a little protectiveness for Sherlock, Johnny boy?'

'Shut up, Matt. Stop teasing him...' Janet sighed.

'I thought that that's what we were here for. One of the jobs includes telling him when he's blind to the obvious. Half- if not most- of the New Scotland Yard already thinks they are going to get together any day now. It's all just a matter of time.'

John frowned, confused. People were talking about him behind his back. Even though it was something so trivial, it just didn't sit right with him.

'John, they're still your friends. It's not that they are saying anything bad about you. Friends just want to know if the people they care about are happy.'

"H-has Sherlock said anything about these rumors?" John asked

'No. He seems to just ignore them. I think he's interested in that pathologist, though.'

John froze. "Why would you think that?"

'He's always comfy-cozy with her (especially recently), and has been spending a lot of time with her the past few days.'

'That doesn't mean that he likes her. He may just want something from her,' Janet defended.

'Yeah, to get into her pants...'

'Matt!' Chad scolded warningly.

'What...?' he whined, 'It's true!'

"S-Sherlock and Molly are..."

'If not now, then very soon; but what does it matter? It's not like you like him. So you should be happy for your friend.'

He should, but he didn't. In fact, it felt very wrong. Almost like Molly was taking something that was his away. Sherlock is his flat mate and his friend. Plus, it wasn't like she had much going for her (though he knew it was rude and out of character for him to think of her as such). She was a plain girl with suffocating, dependency issues who spent too much time around dead people instead of living ones.

But what was he? A retired army doctor with a serious psychological personality disorder due to traumatic events that causes him not to form strong, stable relationships due to his trust issues.

He could see what most would choose. He could understand why Sherlock wouldn't be interested in someone like him. He was not normal. He wasn't the boring, sane, dependable pure type. He was the broken down, used, insane type no one wanted to deal with. He was useless and not the type of person you would enter a consensual relationship with. He was the outcast; the weirdo.

This just didn't sit right with him, though, and he couldn't figure out why.

'Because you...' Matt said, trying to speed this realization along.

"Because I like him?" he answered, unsure of himself.

'Oh come now, John. You liked him when you first met him... I think you sailed that little ship a long time ago. Try again.'

"I love him?" he frowned slightly.

'Very good, Johnny Boy! That's right. You want to be the boring type Sherlock would fall in love with because you most likely love him back. You want him in your pants, not in the pretty pathologist's.'

John started to panic. "No no no no no. That- no! I-I I don't, I cannot! I cannot love anyone, remember. Love is toxic. It's horrible. Love is why I'm the way that I am and why you were created. I am incapable of loving anyone."

'Maybe he's your exception.'

John pressed the palm of his hands over his eyes and rubbed them. He shook his head side to side. No no no no no. This couldn't be happening. Love was something that had almost gotten him killed and the reason he couldn't trust someone.

And yet...

John took his left hand from his face and placed it over his racing heart. There was a warm fuzzy feeling spreading through him whenever he thought about Sherlock. He didn't believe it was love (or that Sherlock could love him) but he was definitely sure that he liked Sherlock.

"I like Sherlock," he whispered aloud, almost as if confessing them made them suddenly true. "I-I want to be in a relationship?" he asked himself, unsure. He knew he liked it when Sherlock touched him and kissed his forehead; and, even though he knew that it was only for comfort reasons, it seemed to spark a stirring that he hadn't felt for a while. Does that mean he wanted a relationship? "I want a relationship with...Sherlock," he said aloud again.

Janet grew the largest smile that she tried to contain. She started to shake, trying to keep the explosive happiness she wanted to show inside until it became too much. 'Oh John! Congratulations!' She ran over and enveloped him into a hug. 'This is a huge leap in your recovery! Oh my god! You learned to work out your trauma enough to form a crush on your handsome flat mate! Oh I'm so proud of you!'

John turned red and a small, embarrassed smile made its way to his face. "Thanks, Janet. I'm glad that you're happy for me." John turned to look at Chad, expecting him to say something discouraging. He waited, unsure.

'I think...that it's good for you, John. Sherlock is the first person you have accepted since your trauma. I just hope that this won't affect your recovery in the future.'

Johns smile returned. It really did mean a lot that he'd wouldn't be the person who disapproved of the relationship. Chad was someone he looked up to. The big brother personality. His opinion meant a lot to him.

'Just be careful that you don't get hurt. The only one in the way of you and Sherlock getting in a relationship is Sherlock.'

John nodded in agreement. He understood the risk, and he'd be lying if he said the idea of being in a relationship didn't terrified him, but the thought of being without Sherlock petrified him even more. The worse thought there was was Sherlock being with someone else, but John wasn't irrational. He didn't think that walking up to Sherlock and telling him that he might have a [small] crush on him would magically ensure them a lasting relationship. He'd be smart about his next move. He'd try to analyze the situation between the two and see how best to proceed.

John walked downstairs and headed towards the kitchen. He started to walk through the doorway to the kitchen when he saw two familial people. Molly sat on one of the chairs at the rarely clean table; Sherlock sitting on the edge, his body leaned in towards her. They murmured softly among themselves, Molly laughing overdramatically at what Sherlock had just told her. She twirled her hair, probably trying to keep her hands occupied to stop her from putting them over his flat mate.

John's face quickly fell. His world seemed to be crashing around him all over again. He had been too late. Sherlock had found a desire in someone else. He was just a broken project Sherlock decided to try to fix up, but, in the end, Sherlock didn't have to same feeling [of love?] that John felt for him. Sherlock probably wasn't even gay. What did John have to offer that he wouldn't be able to get from Molly?

Sherlock leaned in close to Molly, invading her personal space, as he leaned down towards her. John let out a small gasp as Molly closed her eyes and Sherlock's lips moved towards hers.

Sherlock's eyes connected with his across the room and a large, beaming smile spread across his face. "John..." he said fondly.

"O-oh!" was all John could think of to say at the moment. He deflated visible at the sight and was sure the beaming smile wasn't for him. He just ruined a moment between them. He didn't think he'd be able to see Sherlock kiss her. He felt sick. He should leave.

Molly opened her eyes and squeaked, shocked at the intrusion, but warring with herself if it was best to leave.

"I-uh..." he tried, sniffling and holding back tears. Sherlock didn't like people who cried. He said they were annoying and dull. That's probably why he didn't like him. He always cried whenever things were...too much for him (to put it in a nice way). "I'll leave you two in peace."

Sherlock plucked the cat hair off of Molly's cheek before pushing himself off the table after John, ignoring Molly's half-unsure protest.

Sherlock fled after John as he quickly made his way towards the stairs, wiping his eyes to keep silent tears from falling.

"John," Sherlock said softly, grasping John's wrist to keep him in place. John didn't turn towards him, trying to keep Sherlock from thinking of him as weak. "John..." he tried again, voice deeper and filled with concern. Reluctantly, he turned to face Sherlock with red rimmed eyes and a blotchy face.

Sherlock stiffened, stunned and confused. Why was John suddenly like this? Had he said or done something that upset him? He thought hadn't done anything that could have upset him, but he never knew. Maybe John had just had another one of his psychotic episode.

Sherlock turned go look at Molly through the doorway. "I'm going to talk to John in my room momentarily. Please, make yourself comfortable."

Molly frowned, looking after them as they went. "O-ok-" she said before being cut off by Sherlock's door slamming.

"John, did I do something wrong?" Sherlock as softly, trying to keep John off the figurative cliff.

John sighed and sniffled. He wiped his eyes and looked around, trying to not look at his flat mate that was still holding onto his wrist.

John looked around the room and realized that it was actually his first time in here. He would have thought that the walls would be overflowing with anatomy pictures and journal notes about past experiments, but, instead, it was a normal, clean bedroom with very limited pictures. The bed was made and there were no clothes overflowing from the wardrobe. If he didn't know Sherlock, he'd probably think that he shared a flat with a mild manner, average, neat person.

Sherlock slid his hand from John's wrist into his hand and rubbed it softly to bring back John's attention.

"John, you know that you have to tell me if I've done something wrong."

John took a deep breath and turned to face his flat mate. Sherlock looked at John head to toe, scanning and deducing him for anything that could have caused this episode.

John used his free hand to cover Sherlock's eyes, bringing out a frown from his flat mate.

"Stop. Just please, stop. Don't deduce me if I don't tell you something as soon as you ask me."

"How am I supposed to know if everything is alright?"

John gave a small laugh. He swallows thickly before speaking. "How long have you been with her?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, trying to think. "You know I don't have a need to time my movements." He sighed. "I want to say since...six."

John felt as if he had just gotten stabbed by an ax. Six months? They had been dating for six months? How had he been so stupid to not realize that? Every time they had gone to the morgue, Sherlock always acted like she didn't exist. They had never acted romantic towards each other... It could have just been that they were maintaining a working relationship at work and an intimate relationship off the job, but still. It didn't fit and he felt so stupid for not noticing.

Sherlock saw john turn pale. Even though John just berated him for doing so, Sherlock looked and tried to deduce John.

_-pale, sweaty forehead. Nervous._  
 _-hands clammy, starting perspire._  
 _-breathing uneven. Scared? In shock. In shock for what?_  
 _-weakly pulling away. Something I have said._  
 _-does John think he's being replaced?_

Sherlock re-ran the conversation in his head. "Does this have something to do with Molly?"

"W-why weren't you going to tell me? You've been nice to me and leading me on... I, I-"

"John, do you think that...Molly and I...? Do you think that I love her?"

John looked up into Sherlock's eyes, tears welling up but trying to keep his face blank. Sherlock smiled before letting out a hearty laugh. "Oh, John," he said fondly before John started to cry again. "I promise I'm not laughing at you." Sherlock tugged John closer to him by their entwined hands. He ran the pad of his thumb over his warm, rosy cheek to wipe away a tear trail. "Molly and I aren't together."

"But...you were about to...-"

"Pull some cat hair off of her face. She needs to stop putting those beastly things up to her face. One day, she's going to suffocate herself on one."

John sniffled and wiped his eye with his free hand. "You're not involved with Molly."

"Oh heavens no! She has access to the morgue and their science lab, but Molly's too...dependent and small. She'd never be able to stand up to whatever I'd throw at her and she can never stand up for herself. How dull!" Sherlock took John's other hand in his and smiled as he brought up just below eye level. "I need someone who likes the danger and excitement and can keep up with me whether I am thinking or acting," he said softly but surely, as he pressed John's forefinger down to signal him counting. "Someone who doesn't bore me in the first few seconds of meeting them and, no matter how long or deep I search, still doesn't cease to amaze me. Someone who is loyal and voluntarily wants to take care of me or be in my presence. Someone who (mostly) doesn't mind when I deduce them and doesn't mind too much coming home to a skull on the mantel." Sherlock cracked a smile and John gave a small chuckle.

"It grows on you after a while," he smiled, noticing how Sherlock's face seemed a lot closer than it had been when they started this countdown.

"Someone who might not agree with my experiments, but allows me to do them with few exceptions," he whispered, their lips touching slightly. John closed his eyes and reveled in the sensation of the warmth of his lips, wishing he'd apply a little more pressure. "And the most important aspect, someone who will accept me for me."

John quickly licked his lips before feeling Sherlock's lips connect with his. It was just a soft peck, no passion behind it, but just each of them testing the water. John thought it was very nice for a first kiss. The "first" he didn't even really remember, too drunk off champagne and adrenaline. Sherlock tilted his head slightly to the right and sucked on John's bottom lip a few times before releasing it.

John opened his eyes and gasped slightly. "What was that?" What the heck had they just done?

"Comfort, John, though I am only limited to Internet experiences on how to deal with certain situations. None really had any good information dealing with a flat mate with DID."

John frowned slightly. Sherlock was sending him mixed signals again. "So, it was only comfort?" Sherlock nodded and John slipped his hands from Sherlock's.

"I've figured something out today." He shushed him when Sherlock tried to interrupt him. "I'm not sure if it true...or if one part is true, but I will tell you about it on my own time. Do you understand what I'm asking?"

Sherlock nodded. Don't try to deduce the answer before he was comfortable with it himself. "John, what did you mean that I was leading you on?"

John sighed. "Nothing, Sherlock, nothing. I-"

A knock on the door cut off John. "Sherlock? I need to get back to the office soon..."

"Okay, Molly," he said in an overly sweet voice. He turned back to look John in the eyes.

"Are you playing me too, Sherlock? Why are you so nice to me if I cannot give you anything in return?"

Sherlock smiled softly, "Because you're special, John." John fought against blushing, but could feel his cheek warm at the... If it isn't sentiment, then...compliment.

"Now, off you go. I asked Molly here to talk to you about... my past. Pray don't keep her waiting." Sherlock ushered him from his room, "and if you do need any more comfort, you may seek it when it seems fitting," he said softly so Molly wouldn't hear and pecked him on the cheek. He closed the door as soon as John passed the threshold. John, though confused, smiled and felt his lips for the ghost of Sherlock's last touch. Maybe he did feel something for his flat mate.

###### 

Sherlock locked the door and spun around to face his room. He walked over to his bedside table and opened the single drawer to pull out his red experimenter's notebook. As he flipped to the last page he had written on, he grabbed two pens: one red and one black. He pulled the black pen's tip off with his teeth and proceeded to scribble all he had found out.

_-John is currently in a mental struggle with himself over his feelings [of me?]. To my prior knowledge, John must have run this idea by one if not all of his personalities. Must interrogate one or more of them later. Will most likely get the most information from Janet. Most talkative and would be the most proud and gossip-ish._

Sherlock hummed, thinking of he should include what he was thinking.

_-seemed to be an unexplained spark of electricity when John and I kissed. Definitely no dull and a need for further study to find if this is healthy or if I am in need of a doctor. Internet searches conclude that this is in fact a good thing. Says that it means chemistry, but I have yet to find the answer. Doubt it's a chemical but more of a biopsychological aspect._

Sherlock tossed the black pen over his shoulder and quickly pulled the red one's cap off.

_-Do NOT say the word love near or for John. Past trauma makes the word an explosive that will corrode into a PTSD episode. This is a highly dangerous word and must not be felt for him._

Sherlock sighed, knowing that somehow, he'd regret writing the next thing, bur it not only needed to be written, it needed to be believed and used as a reminder to keep himself from believing that he could develop feelings for anyone.

_JOHN WATSON IS NOTHING BUT AN EXPERIMENT_.

###### 

What do you mean he's different? Different how?"

"As in he has a ...unique condition."

"Has this 'condition' something to do with my younger brother taking this stranger in all of the sudden."

"Well," Irene said coyly. "It wouldn't be the first time he's done something stupid, would it?"

"Irene, you are trying my patience. I promised you what you wanted, why are you being obnoxious?"

"Because, it fun to mind fuck both of the Holmes brothers."

"I doubt your husband would share the same sentiment."

"Don't try to threaten me using him. How...dull," she lulled into a devious smile.

"Irene!" he growled through his teeth.

"Calm down sweetheart before you pop a blood vessel. Who knows how much trouble we'd be in as a country without you here to...overlook things."

Mycroft sat down and scowled at the woman across from him. He could understand the sentiment his brother felt for her. She smoothly guided her elbows to rest against the dull metal table. "Contrary to you and your brother's belief, I do care for him. I like this guy he's seem to find out of thin air. He's good for him and I believe he's finally found someone whom he will become...something more with. Just hope he hasn't screwed it up enough to where John won't forgive him when he finds his 'experiment' notebook."

"He has been experimenting with this one too?"

"Somewhat. Nothing too lethal and little Johnny doesn't seem to mind being Sherlock's guinea pig on a few occasions. He's totally infatuated with him."

"Damn it, Irene. I'm trying to prevent these types of occurrences. Looking into John's history, I'd rather he'd be in a stable environment- whether that be at an asylum or a quiet corner in Dublin."

"I'd say asylum is your best choice, but I think our little broken solider is in the best place he could be. Sherlock helps to his control his episodes and he helps control Sherlock. Win-win."

"Irene, I don't think that you have that call."

"Well, I have the information that you're looking for, and, by the look on your face, it isn't in the reports, so I guess we'll continue to play this little game of Red Robin until we're out if ammo or one of use is dead. But, before that happens, I do request some warm tea. It's going to be a long night, Mycroft Holmes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> up-to-date with my other account now. hopefully the next chapter will be out shortly.


	21. The Introduction of A Past Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After so long...
> 
> We bring in Molly into the story, but her part in this story isn't over...

###### 

John sat at the opposite end of the table, glancing at Molly, a thick awkward tension in the air around her. She was clearly uncomfortable being here with him instead of who she wanted to be with. Molly continually glanced behind him to see if Sherlock would be coming from his bedroom. When he didn't, she sighed, and looked John up and down before quickly dismissing him.

John stiffened. He hated that look; the look as if someone was looking at all his faults to take notes of them and judge him. It was bad enough that Sherlock constantly gave him that look. He had grown used it over time, but it still made his skin crawl.

Molly looked down and started to twiddle her thumbs, over thinking what she was to say and sighed.

"I guess...Sherlock isn't coming out any time soon."

Even though John knew it was a rhetorical question, he shook his head. "He, ah... No, I don't think so."

Molly sighed again and looks John in the eyes. "I was hoping he was going to be out here when I am supposed to explain... this."

"What are you supposed to explain?" John asked, slightly curious and still slightly cautious. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling that Molly was angry or being hostile towards him. Not that she was ever rude or particularly hostile towards him, it just seemed that today... Something was off with her and he just couldn't put his finger on it.

'She probably sees you as a threat,' Chad supplied softly.

'A threat to what?' John asked internally.

'Of taking Sherlock,' Matt sighed.

'I don't understand,' John frowned.

'John,' Janet also sighed, frustrated at his stupidity. 'She probably has her suspicions about what you are to Sherlock. Except, now, she has probable cause. He practically confessed to you.'

'No he didn't. He just...We were...It's complicated. He never actually said he wanted a relationship.'

'John! The man just kissed you on _the lips_ -'

'It was a small, friendly one,' he tried to defend.

'Please tell me you didn't actually believe that comfort crap!' Matt sighed. '"Oh, John..."' Matt said in an over dramatic deep whine, trying to imitate Sherlock. "'I'm so inexperienced in the concept of feelings. That's why I always try to make out with you..." Come on, John. That doesn't even make sense.'

John shook his head, trying to clear his roaming concentration before looking back at Molly. "Umm... Did I offend you, Molly?"

Molly looked shocked; as if she thought he was too stupid to pick up on her overly subtle hints. "Oh, no, John," she squeaked. "I was just...thinking about Victor."

"Victor?" John asked curiously. "New boyfriend?"

Molly stared at John. "No, Victor Trevor. Sherlock's 'friend'," she said with air quotes. John felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. "They used to be like glue up until a few years before Sherlock met you."

John frowned slightly. Had Sherlock had a...? But he had never mentioned it... John blinked and stared at Molly, silently asking her to go on.

Molly looked at her watch; she decided that she had a few moments to indulge him.

When I first met Sherlock, he was really close to a man named... Victor Trevor, I think. He used to be the man's best friend; maybe even something more- no one really knows except those two. He used to be with Sherlock every time he visited the morgue."

"Why was he not around when I showed up with Mike?"

Molly sighed softly. "I think they had a falling out. They had met in college when Sherlock was visiting up where he lives. Knowing Sherlock, he got himself involved in a mystery having to do with his uncle. Anyway, I'm not exactly sure, but at that time, Sherlock was neck deep in his addiction to cocaine. Victor was really great and patient, even stayed with him through rehab, but, I think, that's what inevitably what broke them up."

John frowned. He wasn't sure if he was sad about Sherlock not telling John about Sherlock's best friend, or about how he had lost said friend.

Molly took another look at her watch and squeaked. She got up and grabbed her coat off the rack. She was 7 minutes late. If she didn't leave now, she'd be late to work. "Sorry, John. I must be going. I left a body out on ice and I don't want him to get too warm. Tell Sherlock he's not allowed to return to the lab until he returns all of the equipment he stole." Molly took one more longing look at Sherlock's bedroom before walking out of their front door and closing it behind her.

John continued to sit at the table, not really paying attention to Molly's exit. He was still trying to process the information he just received. Did Sherlock have a past ex- he didn't like to speak about? If so, why? Was this his way of opening up about it to him? Did that mean it was a painful experience for him to get over? John had so many questions floating around without discernible answers.

In the adjoining room, John heard a clock strike the hour. He sighed before deciding to try to sleep on it and approach Sherlock about it another day. If Sherlock hadn't come out during Molly's whole speech, he probably didn't want to discuss Victor.

Sherlock heard the sound of John's bedroom door close. He momentarily tensed, unsure what it meant. John hadn't even tried to approach him about his past drug problem. Was John now going to (or currently) contemplate his friendship with Sherlock? He groaned. He shouldn't have expected John to just accept his past...weakness. No one ever did. The possibility of a relapse always drew them away in the end. And, truth be told, he wasn't sad to see them go. John might be the first one.

Sherlock sighed. He'd wait until John confronted him before trying to defend himself. He just hoped that John would have decided not to leave before then.

###### 

Oh...' Janet sighed softly. It had been three days since Molly's confession and John had finally broken and told Janet. He had still yet to actually confront Sherlock, yet. 'That so sad,' she sniffed. 'It explains so much.'

"How do you mean?" John asked softly.

'How could it not? I mean, he lost someone who seems to be a good friend- possibly more than a good friend. Probably someone he loved! Sorry, John,' she apologized when she saw his face, 'but it's practically Molly's own words. Anyway, wouldn't you be sad of you lost one of your closest friends?' _If you had any_ was implied at the end.

John sighed and shook his head. "I mean, I guess I could understand it, but he seems like he doesn't want to talk about it."

'Just...go talk to him.'

"But, I don't know what to talk to him about... What if it brings up something that he doesn't want to bring up? It could have been something traumatizing for all we know. I mean, he was practically his boyfriend."

'Just...talk to him about Trevor or...whatever. I don't know. Go lend support. Not confronting him could be sending him some confusing signals.'

John hesitantly got up from the edge of his bed and walked down the stairs as quietly as he could. He stood on the bottom landing for a minute or two staring at Sherlock's door. He walked slowly towards it, thinking about what he would say and trying to get the courage to actually say it. He wasn't sure if Sherlock would be angry with him for bringing it up or if he'd just slam the door in his face. John shook away the negative thoughts before lightly knocking on the door (hoping that Sherlock wouldn't answer) and waited patiently as Sherlock shuffled about behind it.

Sherlock opened the door enough to slightly lean out of the and look down at John. "John?" Sherlock asked, confused. He looked tired and a little irritable. His eyes were slightly red from a lack of sleep and his hair seemed overly ruffled. "What-"

Seeing Sherlock looking somewhat miserable and tired had a weird, but profound, effect on him. In an instant, everything he had practiced had flown out his head. Looking into Sherlock's eyes, John felt a need... Did he do this to Sherlock? John felt this overwhelming need to comfort him.

John quickly closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist. He rested his head on his chest and closed his eyes, breathing in Sherlock's scent through his t-shirt.

Sherlock stiffened, not expecting John to hug him. "John?" he asked as John felt his voice rumbled through his chest.

"Sherlock..." John shot back.

Sherlock sighed and decided to wrap his arms around John's waist. "What's wrong, John?"

"I'm sorry about Victor."

He stiffened. "How do you know about Victor?" Sherlock asked, wanting to be a little angry, but it was hard when his (he had to admit) cuddly and deeply concerned flat mate was being so imitate with him. He stifled a moan, reveling in the warmth of John.

"Are you okay, Sherlock? You're hearts beating a little fast for a man just standing."

"No, John I'm fine. You can let go now..."

"Yeah...I know."

John continued to hold on, though neither of them really minded. Sherlock walked backwards, letting John into his room, and shut the door. He continued his journey backwards until his knees hit the bed. Once there, he released his grasp of John's waist and unlinked John's fingers from his back.

"Please, sit down, John."

John sat cautiously, trying not to think too hard that he was about to sit on _Sherlock's_ bed.

"What did Molly tell you?"

"Molly said that you used to be...close," he looked away as he said that, "with a man named Victor Trevor during uni. That you used to be friends...or something like that...maybe even more."

Sherlock sighed, frustrated; drawing John's attention back to him. "Why doesn't Molly ever do as she's told?" he asked himself aloud. John gave Sherlock a confused look. "I wanted her to discuss the me towards the end of my...addiction. I thought that that was why you had been avoiding me for the past couple of days."

"I swear...," he tried to explain seriously, grabbing Sherlock's right hand, "I-is that why you look so tired? I-I didn't m-mean... I thought you didn't want to talk about Victor. I thought that y-you wouldn't want to bring it up-"

Sherlock softly placed his hand over John's lips. He gave John's forehead a small peck, smoothing out the worry wrinkles before lowering himself to sit on his knees. He removed his hand slowly off of John's lips, allowing only the fingertips to linger.

"We promised not to judge," John said softly.

Sherlock chuckled slightly, amused by John's childish explanation and the sensation of the vibration his voice made. "Yes, yes we did." he removed his fingertips.

"And I said that I'd try. So I am- going to try not to judge that is." John sighed and closed his eyes. "Look, I know you had a drug problem not long after I started to live with you. If I had a problem with that, I'd already be gone. Please, don't think so little of me."

"I promise, John, I don't."

John opened his eyes and looked at Sherlock. He patted the bed space next to him. "Please, tell me about him."

Sherlock sat on the right side of John. "...I met him during a college excursion one day during the winter holidays. We had the same interest and were pretty compatible as far as friends go. He was like you, almost, impressed with my powers of deduction. So much so, that he enlisted my help during one of his uncle's cases. You see, his uncle was being blackmailed by one of his former inmates. By the time I had solved the case, his uncle had expired and he could either stay at his lonely house or come and study with me at my college. If course, he chose to come with me. We were very good friends for a while, until it seemed that one day, something had changed."

John quietly gulped, hoping Sherlock wasn't about to tell him about any details concerning their love life. Sherlock lightly grasped John's hand closes to him and drew patterns on it with his fingers. It was just to let him know that John was really there, a solid presence that wasn't going to be leaving any time soon.

"He found a woman."

John blinked in confusion, but decided not to ask yet. Instead, he rubbed sift circles on the back of Sherlock's hand.

"He found himself a woman, which, at first seemed all fine and dandy. We still went out a lot and talked about chemistry and such, but slowly, he started pulling away. He started to prefer her over me, and I thought that that was just fine. Then, he had to go and _marry_ the girl," he said in an almost bitter tone. "It was a little before then I had started the addiction phase. I had dabbled in cocaine when I was in college, but only when life was too...dull. Victor helped life seem at least decent, but, now that he was gone, it had just seemed to spiral.

"When my brother had found me, that was when I had hit the lowest part of my addiction. Mycroft had informed Victor of what seemed to be my impending demise, but he did nothing. He didn't even visit me once in the hospital, too busy with kids and such. When he finally did come, he resented coming. Everyone said he was _so_ understanding and _so_ nice for helping a friend through a dark time through their life, but that's because I lead them to believe that."

"Why would you do something like that?"

"Because even though he's moved on, he's still my friend. His life just...took a detour from mine. He still had a reputation to uphold. He only stayed in my life long enough to have a legitimate claim that he was 'there for me'. That's about it. He left half way through my rehabilitation process and I told everyone that he visited almost every day. I haven't seen him since he went back to his life."

"I'm sorry," John apologized as he leaned his head on one of Sherlock's bony shoulder. He needed to remember to feed him more.

"What for?" Sherlock asked as he leaned toward John.

"That you didn't have a proper friend. That you didn't have someone that you could have turned to without worrying that they would inevitable leave you at the end."

"Everyone leave me in the end, John."

John used his free hand to grip the back of John's shirt. "I won't."

"You especially, John. You have the best reason of them all."

"How do you mean?" John asked, picking his head up from Sherlock's shoulder. They were close, unbelievably close. If only he could tip his head...

Instead of explaining, Sherlock slowly closed the gap between their lips. It started off as small, short pecks, each one slow, sensuous; Sherlock's pale lips moving slowly over John's, tasting them. He darted his tongue out a little bit to lick at John's lips before sucking it into his mouth. John parted his lips slightly and shuddering as Sherlock's tongue darted inside. Sherlock reached a hand up to cup John's face as he angled his head to explore his mouth.

John moaned and blushed, hoping Sherlock wouldn't be embarrassed. There was a dull hum of his personality's voices, but they were slowly becoming quietly as all his concentration was devoted to the feel and taste of Sherlock's tongue.

Sherlock released John to break for air. They stayed close to each other, panting and breathing in each other's oxygen.

"Shut up," John whispered softly.

"I didn't say anything."

"I wasn't talking to you," John said softly before kissing him once more. John immediately allowed Sherlock's tongue to regain access to his mouth, trying out a technique he had ready in a crappy romance novel once.

Sherlock was surprised by the way John's tongue made him feel. Feeling a little courageous, Sherlock slowly swung is leg over John's, allowing John to protest, and straddled his hips. He slowly leaned John back until his back touched the soft bed beneath it. Sherlock sucked on John's bottom, paying it special attention, before releasing it. Sherlock looked down at John, loving the way he looked debauched and out of breath. He couldn't help but quickly leaned back down and try to make him even more unsettled.

Sherlock couldn't seem to touch John quick enough. Even though his hands seemed to be flying over any part of John's he could reach, their kiss was still slow, almost fragile as it lengthened from soft, exploring touches. He rubbed John's jumper longingly, wishing he could take it off or at least feel some of the skin underneath. It would be easier to catalogue which of the scars were made by what object. There was a small part of him, though, that thought just the feel of John's scarred, raised flesh would be invigorating.

By the way John's hands skimmed over Sherlock's back and thighs, Sherlock was pretty confident John felt the same way. Sherlock didn't want to push it though. He knew if he pushed John, even a little bit, he'd seize up on him. What they had right now, it was a push in the right direction. Soon enough, hopefully, they'd...progress their relationship and Sherlock's experiment would be complete. For some reason, he felt disappointed.

John felt Sherlock frown above him. He tried to get his attention back by sucking on his top lip like Sherlock had, but when that had no effect, he slowly ended the kiss.

"What's wrong," John asked softly, leaning up on his elbows so that Sherlock wasn't totally looking down at him.

"Nothing John," Sherlock said, trying for a smile.

John's frowned deepened. "Sherlock, what is this?" he asked softly, signally the space between them. He licked his lips. "What is this betwee-"

Sherlock's phone rang, breaking off John's sentence. It shocked them both, forgetting that the world didn't just consist of them. Before John could even finish his sentence, Sherlock was off of him and searching for his phone.

"Sherlock Holmes," he answered. He hummed every now and then, pacing and listening attentively to his phone call. "We'll be there shortly." Sherlock ended the call and turned towards back towards John. "Up, Up, Up, John. That was the Detective Inspector. We are needed. A fresh mystery has appeared in the form of a nice murder. Quickly!"

Sherlock turned and quickly strutted out of his room and into the main room. John sat on his bed a little longer, trying to stop his head from spinning. He didn't understand what had just happened. He thought it had been going great, but the big question still hung between them. What was growing on between them? Were they together-ish? Was it a trial-based relationship? Were they just friends with benefits?

John heard Sherlock's grunt of impatience. He sighed and stood up, following Sherlock into the living room to grab his coat. He didn't want to be left behind...again.


	22. A Friendship in the Rocks

###### 

Sherlock confidently strolled into Scotland Yard as if he owned the place. John tried to hurry a few steps after him, cursing his short legs as he practically jogged. He tried to keep up as Sherlock twisted and turned through the halls to get to the elevator. Sherlock violently pushed the up button, tapping his foot as he waited for it to slowly descend to the lobby.

"Sherlock..." John sighed when he fully caught up. "Can you slow down a little? Not all of us take such large steps as you do."

Sherlock hummed as the elevator opened. He gracefully stepped inside and pressed three different floor buttons as John stepped in. As the door was about to close, he stepped out, not giving John enough time to get out.

"I have something to take care of first," he tried to explain as the door closed shut between them. As it started to ascend, he pressed the down button for the next elevator. He waited once more, slightly more calm than the first time as the elevator came down to his level and opened with a small ding. He pressed the basement level where the morgue was.

Stepping out, he was immediately met with the stench of high-grade sterilizers and embalmment fluids. He walked through a set of heavy metals doors that lead into the morgue. In one of the corners farthest from the doors, he spotted Molly standing over a body, performing an autopsy and collecting muscle samples to test.

Molly looked up at who her visitor was. She was a little shocked to find it to be Sherlock, not informed ahead of time that he would be coming in today, and shot him a large, overzealous smile. "H-hi, Sherlock."

"Molly," he greeted stoically. He walked over towards her until he was standing on the opposite side of the table she was working on.

"H-how are you today?" she stuttered, trying not to play with her hair with her dirty gloves on. She bit her bottom lip and blushed as he stared intently at her. She imagined him telling her she looked beautiful today since she had just started using a lighter, more subtle shade of blush. Then, he'd confess his undying love to her before taking her over the autopsy table. Okay, maybe not over the autopsy table. Something more romantic maybe? She really needed to stop ready those cliché romance novels. They always made her imagination run wild when Sherlock was around.

Sherlock cleared his throat, bringing Molly's attention back to his face instead of his body. She blushed even darker as she realized she had been caught. She turned back to working on her stiff. "D-did John tell you about the lab equipment?" she stuttered.

"No. For some reason, it seemed to have slipped his mind." He walked slowly around the table until he was standing behind her. A shiver ran down her back, but she didn't turn around and see Sherlock squint his eyes at her. "You know, he did mention that you told him about an old pal of mine..."

Molly's eyes widened in fear and her hand stopped working. She knew she was in trouble. "W-what?"

"Yes...Well, he said that, by the way it was described, he was more than a pal...or even a friend... He was somewhat of a love interest."

Molly tried to compose herself, now wishing those prying eyes were off her instead of on her. "O-oh. I wonder why he got that idea."

"Molly..." Sherlock warned her.

She turned around to confront him, or at least look to see if the exit was accessible from where she was standing. She'd have to go around the table, and, since Sherlock was blocking her, she doubted she'd make it. "I-I," she whimpered.

"You know how much I hate those who don't know when to give it up, Molly. Please, spare me from any additional anger and just admit that you purposely led John to believe that."

Molly chewed on her bottom lip, weighing the pros and cons before sighing in defeat. She let her head hang, not wanting to see the disappointment on his face.

"Tsk, tsk, Molly. I expected more from you." Molly sniffled, on the verge of tears. "I trusted and held you in high regards. Why would you lead John to believe that I ended on even explicable terms with Victor? I didn't date the man. I told you I didn't want him brought up ever again."

"Maybe I don't just want to be held in high regards!" she hissed through watery tears that started to flow down her cheek. "I see the way you are with him...and it's hard not to get jealous. Why does the mental patient get to walk into your heart freely...when I've been struggling since I've known you?"

Sherlock took a step closer to Molly, leaving barely an inch or two between them. "Who told you?!" he demanded.

Molly leaned back a little towards the table, feeling as if she was between a rock and a hard place. "I'm not stupid, Sherlock. Don't you think my medical knowledge of the dead extends to the living? I can tell when someone such as John is a little off." Molly wiped her face with the back of her wrist.

"You don't understand, Molly, you cannot tell anyone. John-"

"John! John! John! That's all I hear out of your mouth!" Molly leans closer to Sherlock, closer than she had ever been to him. She ran a shaky finger down his cheek, stroking it softly as she had always imagined.

"Molly," Sherlock grabbed her hand and took it away from his face. He stared into the sad, watery eyes. "Look, if this gets out, John's life will be destroyed. His reputation will be ruined and he'll definitely lose his medical license. He might even be tried be the courts for practicing with the knowledge of having a mental illness."

Molly gave a breathy laugh of disbelief. "Why?" she whispered quietly, looking down at the floor once more, completely ignoring Sherlock's desperation. "Why can't I ever find a way into that deep, complicated heart of yours like you have done with mine? How did he do it so effortlessly?"

Sherlock sighed and took a few steps back. "Molly... John's my... friend. Nothing more, nothing less."

"Please don't feed me that crap, Sherlock. You look so happy and you smile so easily with him. It's not like it's not obvious there's something between you. The way you just look at each other..." she continued. "I've tried for a long just to make you smile and, hoped that you'd see me more than just a friend."

"Molly," Sherlock tried again.

"I-I just..." Molly closed the small distance between them and clung to Sherlock's neck as she pulled him down to seal their lips.

Sherlock shoved Molly away from him and jumped back as if he had been burned. She gave out a shocked cry as the edge of the metal table dug into her back. "MOLLY!" he shouted, livid.

Silence rang throughout the morgue as each stood staring at one another, shocked. Sherlock wiped his lips with the back of his hand as Molly tried to stop herself from crying. She gently touched her lips and sniffled; she'd never forget the feeling of his lips against hers.

"I'm sorry."

"Molly, just because someone doesn't have the same feelings as you doesn't mean that you can force yourself upon them!" Sherlock sighed angrily, trying to control himself. "I'm sorry. I had no right to say that."

Molly wiped her eyes. "No, you're right. I should have controlled myself."

Sherlock took another long sigh. "Molly, I think it's best if we put some space between us for a while. At least until your...emotions don't interfere with your thinking."

Molly silently nodded. "I'm sorry. I was acting selfish. I-I guess I just didn't want him to think that you...felt that way toward anyone. That's what you told everyone else...That's what you told me…"

Sherlock sighed again before turning and walking back out of the set of heavy metal doors. He let the doors close and leaned against them, trying to compose himself. "John... It's not what you think."

John's shadowy figure revealed itself from the dimly lit corner next to the door. His face was devoid from any expression, telling Sherlock that John was currently "not in".

"So, you were lying to John when you said there was nothing between you and Molly? You know how he is, Sherlock. Didn't you think about how he might feel if he found out that you broke up with her because of him?"

"We're nothing like that."

"So what was that?" he asked, the slight whine in his voice told of John being equally dominant. He started to tear up slightly. "I-I thought..." John's personality seemed to struggle with wanting to cry and wanting to be calm and cool. He sniffled as tears fell down his cheeks. He fruitlessly tried to wipe them away, but the tracks were soon retraced by new ones. "I-I trust..."

Sherlock walked over to John and grabbed one of his hands. He pulled John close until he was pressed into his chest. He placed a comforting hand on one of his shoulder, feeling John shudder as he cried (he really wished that people would stop crying today. It was a lot of work to try to stop them.).

"John...John, please... Stop crying. Molly and I were never together. When I told you that I didn't like her, I wasn't lying. I meant what I said when I said that she's the last person I'd consider dating." Sherlock took his hand off his shoulder and placed it softly on his cheek. He used their combined hands to wipe away his tears and looked John in the eyes. "John... There are going to be times when someone you think you know does something that you totally misconstrue as hurtful to you, but you cannot breakdown every time you feel hurt. Life is always going to knock you down, but you have to stay strong and keep your head up. I know you've been through a traumatic experience, but if you continue to let that get in the way of your goals, you're never going to finish any. You cannot breakdown and cry when life becomes too much."

John hiccupped and worked to slow down his breathing. He nodded at Sherlock's words, knowing they held some truth.

Sherlock tipped John head back slightly and pressed his lips to John's softly. There was no demand; no search for information or experimentation. It was just a smooth side of tongues that told John that Sherlock would be there to help whenever he was knocked down. If only he would trust him…

Sherlock broke the kiss when he felt John relax under him. He wiped away one final tear and gave john a small, friendly smile. Sherlock took a step back, not releasing John's hand, as he walked with him to the elevator. John blushed but didn't comment as they walked hand-in-hand.

_Hypothesis: John has fallen for Sherlock_

_Evidence:_  
 _-John does not mind close, comfort contact with him_  
 _-John has become jealous of anyone who might have had a relationship with Sherlock in the past or present_  
 _-constantly worried for Sherlock's welfare, but not overly nagging as one would mother a child_  
 _-always gives sly, longing looks whenever he believes Sherlock not looking_  
 _-Does not mind kisses from Sherlock_  
 _-shows the beginning stages of trust_  
 _-actively engaging in intimate situations without complaint_

_Conclusion: John has fallen for Sherlock. Start activation of next phase of experiment._

Sherlock filed all of the information away to be written down in his notebook later. Sherlock shot John a quick, fake smile, feeling his stomach clench at the sight of John smiling at him with admiration and fondness in his eyes. Sherlock turned away from him and felt his stomach drop. He didn't understand where the feeling of...regret start to creep in. He had experimented on other people before and hadn't felt regret for them. What made John so special? Sherlock deleted the feeling. It didn't exist anymore, at least not in his mind.

Sherlock tightened his grip on John's hand as he pulled him into the elevator. He pushed the button to the fifth floor and watched the elevator door close, deciding not to comment on how close John stood next to him.

###### 

Molly backed away from the set of swinging doors as Sherlock walked away holding John's hand securely in his. She sniffled, having finished crying and not about to start again. She'd decided she wouldn't cry another tear for the man. He was important to her, but she'd rather have a friendship with him than nothing at all.

He didn't want her, and she'd be lying if she said that that didn't hurt, but she was more upset about why he didn't want her than anything else. She would stand firm on her decision, though. She'd take some time to get past the rejection and the feeling of worthlessness, and soon be able to look him in the face without the feeling of guilt or shame.

Molly fanned her face, trying to get rid of some of the redness. She turned back towards her cadaver and looked down at him. Death had made him sickly pale, but the dark color of his hair reminded her of a certain consulting detective. She sighed and decided to stitch him up for another day. For now, she decided to go home and spend some time with her new kitten she had adopted from a friend. Maybe they'd do the cliché break up thing and watch _He's Just not That Into You_ while stuffing her face with a pint of cookie dough ice cream.

Molly sighed and cursed when a single tear drop fell onto her corpse. She tried to wipe her blurring eyes as she tried to concentrate on her work. She decided to start to fulfill her promise tomorrow.


	23. Labels and Stereotypes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Pirate voice)Arg..there be problems ahead. i accidentally did a bad thing and let another TV show influence this chapter. I mean, it was a very point they made and one i was probably going to write about, but i was correcting this and was like...sound familia- Opps...

###### 

"Lestrade..." Sherlock greeted as he marched into his office.

Greg turned around as he looked down at the file he was holding and opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he looked up and noticed Sherlock and john's joined hands. He stared at it confused for a moment, not noticing John blushing beet red, before clearing his head and getting back on track. "Yes," he cleared his throat, "Well..."

Sherlock rolled his eyes."Get on with it Lestrade instead of concentrating on other people's business."

Greg sent him a quick glare before opening the case file again and sliding it across his desk to the other two. Sherlock pulled John foreword with him and sat down in one of the chairs as John took the other. Sherlock released their hands and took the file to scan to over.

Sherlock hummed as he looked through the file. He felt John lean over his shoulder to look as well, but didn't say anything about it. He could tell that Lestrade was gawking, but he didn't want to call him out on it, not wanting John to feel embarrassed.

"What suspects are you currently pursuing?"

"We are after this man named Craig Adkins. He is known by the couple since they took out a restraining order after he started to make crazy accusations against the deceased. He has been spotted on more than one occasion in front of their house, and he has a history of a mental health disorder."

John stiffened. Sherlock held the folder up to block their face and looked back at John. "What's wrong?" Sherlock frowned.

John gritted his teeth. "Just...the nerve of... How people just labels others..."

Sherlock saw how much this was disturbing John. He understood it, though. Being labeled as anything negative always shifted the perception of people who you meet.

"Relax, John. I've got this." He gave John a quick peck on the cheek and closed the folder.

Sherlock stood and glared at Lestrade across the desk. He bristled a little in confusion, but met it head on. "And may I ask why, Detective Inspector Lestrade, that you think the crime was committed by the only person who has a mental handicap?" Lestrade opened his mouth to answer, but Sherlock continued before he could get a word out. "Is there any justifiable evidence that proves that this man is guilty of more than breaking a restraining order? Has he proven to be violent or even unable to function in a normal, everyday setting? Have you even looked at the crime scene? This was clearly committed by someone else, not that you'd use that minuscule brain to do your job. If you did, maybe your life wouldn't have ended up in shambles. Why-"

"Sherlock!" Chad warned, breaking John from dominant. "There was no reason to bring someone's personal life into this.

"What?" he practically hissed. This...imbecile," he pointed, "practically insulted you. I-"

"Sherlock...That's not helping John's situation," he said tightly through gritted teeth, trying to be quiet enough so Lestrade didn't hear.

"Well, why don't you let John decide that for himself? He obviously wouldn't have come to me if he wasn't bothered by it."

"SHERLOCK...leave it alone... Not in front of the nice DI."

"Sherlock, would you please explain what the hell is going on," Lestrade sighed. He looked around Sherlock to John, concerned. "Is John...okay?"

"John is perfectly fine. Now please, shut up." Sherlock turned back to John and looked at him deeply. "Look, Chad. John has the right to rule his own body. If he felt disturbed by something someone else said, and he came to me and told me such, you shouldn't feel that it's not right when he asks me to take care of it."

"Sherlock! Can you not see that you're being indiscreet? There was a reason we didn't tell people about John's condition...and you've done nothing but tell everyone that you know about it; even if you do only know a few people. You have done nothing but try to destroy what we have taken years to build."

"I have only destroyed what the three of YOU have decided to build for John...but did you ever think about letting John become exposed to some situations on his own? To let him have a choice to decide what he thought was best for him."

"If he was stable or strong enough to make that decision, he wouldn't be asking for our help! His mind wouldn't have needed to even create us as a defense mechanism in the first place!"

Chad and Sherlock stared at one another intensely, silence ringing out in the small office. The DI looked between the two, unsure if he should say anything. He was now immensely confused. "Whoa, Whoa, Whoa. We're not talking about Craig any more, are we? I wasn't saying that he was guilty because he has a mental health disorder... I was just telling you a fact. John...what is he talking about?"

Sherlock continued to stare at John as he started to explain. "If these despicable thing you call photos are anything to go by, the way the hand was position shows that the murderer was someone who is left handed. Why would he lean across the body to reposition it if he were just to use his right hand? Because he is dominant in his left. This man you assume to be the culprit is right handed. Of course, everyone just saw the label and automatically assumed that the mental man just snapped. What? He decided to be violent all of the sudden and commit a heinous crime? Heinous crime = mental person? Obviously, someone set him up. It'd have to be someone who knew about the man's condition, but also knew the victim. I'd try a physician or a roommate. If he talked to them or brought the victim around, then one of them probably knew the victim. So, try doing some actual police work and try not to offend people like John who have mental disorders and are constantly plagued by stereotypes and labels."

Greg looked between the two, still reeling from Sherlock's confession. "W-what?"

Chad looked at Sherlock, wide-eyed and shocked. "That was a dick move..." Matt's voice leaked through. For once, Chad agreed. Angry, he turned to walk out of the office and headed down the hall. He heard someone calling after him and, at first, ignored it. He stopped after he noticed it wasn't Sherlock's voice.

Greg ran after John. "Hey, wait up," he called as John started to slow. "John...Um...I was wondering..., even before Sherlock said all of that, if...you wanted to hang out tonight...maybe go out for a drink."

John was thrown off track with the random invitation. "I'm not really a crowd person...I-"

"Oh, no. It was going to just be us as friends. If it will make you more comfortable...I'll just buy a couple of beers and we'll watch the rugby match on the telly... If you want to, that is."

John chewed on his bottom lip, thinking over Greg's offer. After a moment, he decided that it sounded like a pretty good idea. "You know what; I think that would be a lovely way to spend an evening. What time do you want me over?"

"How does six o'clock sound?"

"Perfect. I'll call you if anything turns up."

"Thanks, Lestrade."

Lestrade waved John off as he continued down the hall to the elevators. He turned around to walk back to his office when he was suddenly stopped by a wall of consulting detective. "Sherlock," he chastised.

"Lestrade..." he drawled. He glared at the DI and circled him as if he was lunch. "I hear that you and John are going to be having a little get together tonight. May I ask what that might possibly be code for?"

"What the hell are you on about now? Code?"

"I know I'm not one for social norms, but when people usually invite others to one's place of living, it's for...other purposes."

"You think I asked John to my place to sleep with him? I hardly know the man! And who the hell are you? His handler? Are you trying to mark your territory? Goodness, Sherlock. For one, I don't even like the man that way. Two, did I not entice him over with a _beer and rugby?_ I'm pretty sure that's all we're going to be doing. That's how men bond," Greg said matter-of-factly.

"So...you're trying to bond with him?" Sherlock asked, trying to hold any confusion from his voice.

Greg blinked at him a few times before sighing and giving up on the conversation. "Come on..." he directed as he stepped around Sherlock to get to his office."Explain where you pulled all of these 'deductions' from; and talk slowly this time. I'm not a freaking speed writer you know."

###### 

"I don't understand why everyone is so upset. So Sherlock said something to Greg about how he profiles people... It's actually one of the mild things that Sherlock has fought with someone over. Plus, I thought you all would appreciate him standing up for us in that situation."

'That's not the point we're trying to make, John. This isn't only about Sherlock causing a small scene in Lestrade's office. It's about how you've been acting around Sherlock,' Chad explained.

"W-what about it? Have I not been doing well?"

'The way you've been going about it with Sherlock...it's a little unorthodox,' Janet tried.

"What's a little unorthodox when you get results?" John tried to play off.

'We know he's been...training,' he thought the word conditioning was a lack of a better word, 'to be self-dependent...but the three of us feel that he's also training you to be dependent on him.'

"How do you mean?"

'You never listen to reason anymore,' Matt stated plainly.

John laughed. "You never do that, Matt."

'Yea, that's true, but at least I know the point when to listen to right and wrong and make a good decision. Recently, you hardly even asked any of us what we think the best decision to take. When we do attempt to help you, you just break into dominant and try to go about the problem in a way you see fit.'

"So, you're angry because I'm becoming more independent?" John laughed incredibly.

'John, you have to take your recovery into account,' Chad spoke up, trying to use logic.

"I am taking my recovery into account!" John hissed. "I'm the one trying to recover."

'We're also here to help out along that journey...and to do that, we have to speak up when we think that a certain...path is leading you in the wrong direction.'

"What?!"

'We're just looking out for you, John,' Janet tried for compassion. 'We don't want you to be set back during the recovery process?'

"I'm not going to be set back. What could possibly do that?" The silence was thick within the confines of his mind. "What? Do you think it could be Sherlock? That's a riot. The only person who is constantly working to help improve my state of mind is the one whom you believe will hurt me." John sighed through gritted teeth. This was unbelievable. "He hasn't done anything wrong!"

'You're being bias, John! Just because he held your hand and made you blush, he's suddenly a grade-A guy? Don't forget the reason you have this disease in the first place,' Matt reminded.

"Like I can forget with you bringing it up all the time! It's no wonder I cannot get over my stupid past and move forward with my relationship with Sherlock. He's done nothing but try to gain my trust and make me as comfortable as possible, but my stupid, screwed up mind refuses to allow me to emotionally open up to him!" John seethed. "I feel that I have finally found someone who accepts the real me! He doesn't care that I have a mental health problem... He just cares about me being happy," John sighed.

'John...' Janet said softly.

"No! I am tired of being controlled as a puppet. My mind acts like it knows best...but maybe...maybe something else does."

'What, your di-'

'Matt,' Chad warned.

John glared at Matt. "Whatever. Sherlock cares about me..."

"Has he told you that?"

"...In so many words. A-any way... I think I know best when it comes to matters about myself. You have your areas to worry about, I have mine-"

'We cannot work on those areas without your cooperation-'

"Then it's probably useless! Look, I'm tired of this conversation. I'm going to get dressed to hang out with someone who actually wants to get to know me even after learning about my condition...Don't bother me tonight," John dismissed them and went into upstairs to his actual room to change for his night with Greg.

###### 

'Chad?' Janet called softly. He had his back to her, but even then, she could still tell he was fuming. 'Chad? Chad, what are you thinking?'

Chad grits his teeth and counted to ten in his head. He hoped that the anger would dissipate, but barely any did. He turned to face his other two companions. Janet looked at him concerned while Matt looked indifferent to the whole situation.

'It's time we start to leave John.'

Janet gasped, shocked. 'What? You don't actually mean that!'

'I mean what I say Janet, and, as you heard John say, we're not needed any more. He's searching for self-domination...well, it's about time we give it to him.'

Janet looked to Matt, wanting him to say something about the matter.

Matt shrugged. He had come to terms with this a while ago. Since Sherlock had become a constant figure in John's life, he felt John hadn't been the same person he had grown to like. He wasn't as manipulated as he had once been, making him seem more normal and boring in comparison. John's only concern now seemed to be self-will and Sherlock. Matt sighed.

Janet stared wide-eyed at the two of them before she looked away. Even though she knew this was coming, she didn't think it'd be this soon. Even Chad had said that there were still a lot of issues that John needed to work out. Were they not there to do that job? Why would they decide to leave him if he was still in recovery? That would just make him have a larger chance to have a setback.

'How are we going to go about this?' Matt asked.

'For now, slowly stop doing our individual jobs. Let John start to worry about the various assignments. Only help him out when he specifically ask... Under no means may these things be told to John.'

'If you feel that John is capable of being self dependent, why can we not let him know?' Janet cried, openly upset.

'Janet,' Chad tried to comfort. He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as she wiped away the beginning of her tears. 'John chose this for himself. We are only here to help John deal with his past, but, if John feels that we are a burden to him, we are doing no better than he himself could do to recover. Plus, it wasn't as if this wasn't inevitable. We had already discussed this happening before hand...so we could all prepare for this.'

Janet sighed and wiped her eyes.

'The reason we don't want him to know is so he doesn't panic or freak out. We want it to be a slow transition. A subtle shift of power. If we take a big leap too quickly, we risk him relapsing into a greater setback than the one he started with. We are practically the closest people to John after his trauma... Until he realizes that only he needs actual people and not imaginary ones, we need to allow him to slowly push us to the back of his mind. He needs to forget us.'

Janet nodded, knowing it was the truth. 'Okay,' Janet said quietly. 'Where do we start?'


	24. A Friend to the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I feel its time for our two other boys to bond. I really do think they make the best of friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone feel like collaborating with me on a chapter or two? if your interested in writing a smut scene with me, let me know... will be much appreciated.

###### 

John sighed as he slowly stepped back towards the door. Sherlock followed, trailing soft, wet kisses up John's neck to a sweet spot under his chin. He used one hand to cup the other side of John's jaw and ran his hand up and down John's back. John groaned and put his hands on his hips to push Sherlock away from him, but it was half-hearted at best. Sherlock's lips connected with his as he pinned John to the door. John allowed him a few minutes of dominated, passionate kissing before pushing him back to talk to him.

"Why don't you want me to go?" John panted.

Sherlock drank in John's debauched and ruffled look. His cheeks were blushing crimson and his kiss-bruised lips made him want to continue his assault on them.

"No, Sherlock," John chastised, seeing the look in Sherlock's eyes. He kept a firm grip on Sherlock's waist to keep him in place, but softly massaged the red crescent marks made with his fingernails. "Answer the question."

Sherlock, not one for listening to authority, continued his previously abandoned obsession with John's neck and proceeded to suck an angry, red hickey on the side of the good doctor's throat. John moaned, momentarily lost in the sensation of Sherlock marking his neck as his. He finally released John's neck and continued his kissing assault, trying to say a few words of explanation between kisses. John vaguely recognized a few clipped words as Sherlock spoke.

"Don't go..."

John gave a breathy whined as he felt teeth slightly graze his skin, feeling a shiver run down his spine. He licked his lips and tried to concentrate. "Why?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'll...be awfully lonely...here without you."

John chuckled. "You'd hardly notice if I was gone."

"Not true... Just don't like to think of you as gone."

John moaned and arched into Sherlock's grasp. His fingers constantly switched between digging into the cool, pale skin and softly rubbing any sore spots he'd left behind. "I-I'm sure you wouldn't miss me for a couple of hours. I promise...I'll be back within a few hours."

Sherlock frowned and once again attached their lips; breaching John's with his tongue when he let out a surprised moan. After what seemed too short amount of time to Sherlock, John broke for air. Sherlock nuzzled the collection of marks he had just created. He lowered his voice to a seductive purr, knowing John could hardly resist when he used that tone. "If you stay..." Sherlock whispered seductively, trailing his hands down John's body. He could feel him shiver and grow warm under his touch. "I could make it very worth your while..." Sherlock slowly slid his hands under John's T-shirt, not wanting to startle him. He splayed out his palms and slowly inched upward to skin, feeling raised flesh and scarred tissue under his hand.

John quickly snatched Sherlock's hands from under his shirt and slapped them away. He pushed Sherlock a few steps back to put space between them and turned away from him in embarrassment. "I-I...I think we should take this slower..." he trembled.

"Sorry, John. I am so sorry," Sherlock said quickly, trying to do damage control. He released any grasp on John, knowing that he would just close him off if he felt over stimulated. Damn! He hadn't meant to push John too far. Sherlock watched John, trying to find any sign of him slipping into himself. When he found none, Sherlock lightly grasped John's hands with his own and looked at John.

John sighed and tightened his grip on his flat mate's hand. "I…I don't want to move to fast with us. I'm still my mentally fragile self underneath." John brought Sherlock's hand up to his lips and kissed his knuckles. "Look, I'll only be gone for a few hours. I'll be back before you know it." John gave Sherlock's forehead a soft peck before stepping around the door and leaving out of it.

Sherlock waited 48 seconds for his flat mate to leave before sighing and walking over to the sofa. He pulled his red notebook from a drawer in the coffee table and flipped to the last page. He updated a few observations taken from the last few days before flipping it close. He looked around the room for something to do and found none. Sherlock groaned, bored already. He hoped John would return soon.

###### 

John arrived at Lestrade's house a few minutes after six. He felt a nervousness bubble up in his stomach as he knocked. He fiddled with the small bow on top of the case of beer he was holding, hoping to give his hands something to do. John shuffled from foot to foot, debating if this was, in fact, a good idea after all. He momentarily wondered why Janet or one of his other personalities hadn't come out to scold him yet, but it was quickly overshadowed by fear as he heard the bolt shift and the door swing open.

John held his breath as Lestrade stood in the open doorway. Lestrade smiled down at him, seeming genuinely happy to see him, but John wasn't sure. He looked overly casual in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and an equally loose white t-shirt with an advertisement for some summer festival John has never heard of. His worn sneakers and hand-tossled hair helped to complete his summer down-time look. John, feeling like an idiot just standing out on the stoop overly dressed, handed Greg the pack of beer and gave him a shy smile.

"Thanks, John," Lestrade smiled, looking at the name of the product.

"I-I wasn't sure which one you liked, but I think this one is pretty good."

"It's fine, John. I have other beer in the fridge. Come on in, I was just finishing up my cleaning."

Lestrade stepped back and allowed John onto the step and into the house. He stepped into a small entryway and took a look around the small flat. To the right of him, a small but spacious living room complete with a mounted television and a couch on opposite ends of each other. Everything had neutral color tones, telling John that Greg probably didn't put much thought into putting together this room.

Lestarde came up behind John and ushered him into the kitchen. It was more up-to-date and modern then a lot of similar flats. All appliances and fixtures were made of stainless steel and the countertops had a granite finish. Greg opened the one of the French doors on his fridge and pulled out another beer. He then opened a drawer to his left and pulled put a bottle opener, opening both bottles.

"Take a seat in the main room, I'll be there momentarily."

John nodded and quietly shuffled out of the kitchen and back into the living room. He awkwardly sat on the couch, wishing that Janet would switch with him. Janet had refused earlier, though; the first time she had ever said no. He was shocked and confused, not used to being turned down by her. He tried to apologize for anything he might have done to upset her, but she still refused. This left a large, nervous knot in the bottom of his stomach. He took a small sip of his beer, not liking the way the alcohol interacted with his stomach.

Lestrade walked into the room a couple of minutes later, carrying a bowl of chips and hot dip in one hand and a beer in the other. He set them both on the coffee table and took a seat on the other side of the couch before taking his beer again. He turned on the television and flipped to the station the game was to be on.

John felt his phone vibrate in his jacket pocket. He fished it out and looked at the screen. Sherlock's name popped up along with a picture of a blinking envelope.

"Looks like the game isn't on yet."

John looked up as Greg started to talk. He put his phone back onto his pocket and looked at the television screen. "I guess not..."

A thick, awkward silence settled between them. John hated it and hoped that maybe Janet- or even Matt- might take over dominant for him. He pushed himself further into the corner of the couch, wanting to become lost in the cushions and get away from this awkward tension.

"I didn't mean to offend you, by the way," Lestrade commented quietly.

"Excuse me?" John asked, not sure what he had heard.

Lestrade sighed. "...When I told Sherlock about our suspect, I hadn't meant it in an offensive way," he sighed a little louder. "I was relying facts off of the file. I wasn't saying he was a suspect because he was mentally incompetent; it was just something to take note of. I wasn't using his disease as an excuse."

"Oh..., well, thank you for not bring prejudice," he said awkwardly. He sighed and scolded himself for being a conversation stopper. He mentally prepared himself for the upcoming conversation and turned towards Greg. "I'm glad, actually. Many don't know how terrible it is to have a mental disease, and many more don't care to know. It isn't just the disease alone that causes someone to feel bad. It's also the public backlash whenever they hear someone has a mental health disorder. They flock whenever someone even gets near them. It isn't like we are contagious.

"Another thing that really pisses me, and I'm sure a lot if people with similar situations, is how we are portrayed in life nowadays. In popular movies, the serial killer is the bipolar, schizophrenic or psychopathic OCD person who's off their medication. You can see why I cannot tell people about my condition. I have post-traumatic stress disorder and I have dissociative identity disorder. One alone generally throws up red flags to someone. When they hear I have both, they generally want to run and inform the nearest asylum that I have escaped." John chucked humorlessly. "I'm a match made in hell apparently...but I'm not. I'm a pretty nice guy. At least I believe I am..."

Lestarde cleared his throat, wanting to stop John, but also giving enough time to rephrase his question. "So...you're not...currently taking any medication?" he asked in a voice that showed he was confused instead of demanding. He didn't want John to feel as if he was judging him for his decision.

John looked deeply into Lestrade's eyes, searching for any clues that would tell if Lestrade were really lying to him about the situation. Finding nothing, he blushed, and looked at his fingers. "N-no. I'm not. They...they would mess with my mind. I wouldn't be able to function. Plus, there'd be a record and the state would know, which means they'd have to do a full examination of my psyche to determine if I'm fit to practice medicine, which, knowing as a doctor, they'll tell me I'm not. Therapy is also pointless. There's the expense and, even though it's supposed to be fully confidential, the government still has ways to getting even the most confidential documents. Plus, it's like I have my own therapists in my head. They are way better at helping me than any human therapist. They know everything about me because they are literally a part of me. I don't know what I would have done if I hadn't had them in my life," he ended off quietly.

John looked back up at Lestrade, seeing if he understood. Greg gave him a soft smile, kind of understanding. "If you don't mind my asking...I don't want to overstep a boundary or anything...it's just that...do you know what caused it? Again, you don't have to answer," he said quickly.

John quickly looked back at his hands. He played with them, tracing the calluses and the scars. He sighed, wondering how he was going to explain. "I...um... It's a long story. It...has to do with my stint in Afghanistan and...mostly with my family life while I grew up. I haven't told Sherlock yet, though, he tried to deduce it when we first met. I...I'm not sure if I'm able to trust him yet. I'd say it's one of the side effects of my conditions, but, I don't want to use that as an excuse. I think we're slowly getting there, though."

A few seconds of silence settled over them. Greg figured that that was all he was going to get upon the matter for now and hummed quietly. "So... Not even the great Sherlock Holmes figured out the mystery that is John Watson," Lestrade joked and softly butted him with his elbow a few times.

John gave him a soft smile and looked up appreciative at Lestrade. He laughed and elbowed him back, starting a small arm-wrestling tournament between the two. A loud announcement about the start of the upcoming rugby match interrupted their fight. They both turned to hear the announcement of the playing teams and a small bit of information about a few of the individual players. The station soon cut to another commercial; a small timer in the corner of the television counting down the minutes until the start of the game.

"So...you and Sherlock..." Lestarde asked, curious but not wanting to seem like it.

John's smile widened and his blush deepened. "Yeah..."

"And?"

"W-well, it's...complicated. I, like I said, have a hard time trusting people. So, I am trying to take...whatever this is slowly, but I have no idea what this is. First, it started off as comfort, then, Sherlock started to open up to me to gain my trust... Now, here we are. We're just doing whatever seems right to us and this just seems...right." John looked to see if Lestrade somewhat understood what he meant. Greg slightly nodded, not 100% sure, but understood somewhat. Sherlock needed to break down barriers before reaching the heart, and, by the way they both seemed happy, he guessed Sherlock was doing exactly that.

"Well, that's great. It's good to see Sherlock has found himself a suitable companion. I feared he wouldn't find someone he would be able to stand more than five minutes with." Lestarde awkwardly looked at John, wondering if it was a good idea to express his next thought or if it was none of his business. "I say this as a long-time associate of Sherlock, John, and I don't mean to say this so you'd look at him in a different light, but... Sherlock has a history. I know, because I had lived through part of his darker moments in life. Do you know what exactly you're getting into if you enter a relationship with him?"

John looked up at Lestrade, feeling the knot that had slowly dissipated start to tighten once more. He didn't know if he wanted to hear what those moments were. He wasn't sure how he'd react to that new information, but he knew he wanted to keep the Sherlock he knew now clean and undefiled, not brought down by blemishes of a past life.

"I'm sure you know about Sherlock's drug history. If he's trying to...court you?" he questioned, not really sure that was the right word, but it was close enough, "he's surely told you why he's done it..."

John bit his bottom lip and squashed the instinct telling him to turn away and not answer. He licked his lips and thought about a proper response. "I...know that Sherlock has a history with drugs...but that's as far as my knowledge with it goes. He hasn't opened up about that aspect of his life...and I haven't forced him," John said shyly.

Greg nodded and blew out a long sigh. "I'm not going to get into it totally, knowing that Sherlock would probably want a little indiscretion, but I... Sherlock... he isn't someone you could have thought was the man he is today."

John took a few deep breathes, trying to calm his racing heart. He would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued, but he also felt he was crossing a line that shouldn't be crossed. They hadn't specifically talked about this type of situation, but it still seemed...wrong. The knot twisted tighter and John fought against the need to clutch his stomach.

"For a while, Sherlock and I had a different type of relationship. He used to get as high as he could, and I'd have to search for him in gutters and drug dens in time to save him from an overdose." A shiver ran down his spine at the memories. Sherlock would stand out in his group of drug buddies, yet, he'd always seemed to blend in. He had track marks that seemed to be miles long and dark, caved in eyes that told of long, sleepiness nights full of drug hallucinations. Yet, his demands of stimuli and power of deduction, along with that large brain of his, set him apart from his junkie counterparts. He didn't understand why someone would waste such talents with such destructive devices as drugs. "I remember the first time I had arrested him, in one long breath, he told me about parts of my life, told me some less than flattering points about my colleagues, and then solved a week old murder that happened to be sitting on my desk before he un-ceremonially fainted and sprained out on the floor." Lestrade slightly chuckled, but stopped when John didn't join in. "I sat there thinking A) I'm somewhat glad that he fainted, because a few people, including myself, felt like decking him, and B) that this strange man might be some use to me if he decides to stop the drugs. His brother, Mycroft- have you met him? Almost? What does that mean? Eh! Explain later...anyways, he decided that he owned every since door in the universe and just walked into my office and practically demanded that Sherlock needed to be given cases. Not one to be bullied, I demanded he sit down and we would discuss this on my terms. You should have seen the look on his face! Anyway, I'm off track again. We talk, I set boundaries, Mycroft begrudgingly agrees, and he ships Sherlock off to whatever drug asylum- sorry, I didn't mean it like that- that could hold him until he was clean. After that, I took the reins and made sure Sherlock stayed clean. There were times he did show up off in some dimension only his mind could make up, and I had to put my foot down, but once he found out that I was serious about not giving him anymore cases, he'd sober up and come back with his tail in between his legs. Since he's been with you, though, I'm glad I don't have to worry about him running off in the night and we'd find his body in an alley somewhere in the morning." They both shivered at the thought and let a small moment of silence pass.

Lestrade smiled at John, and John looked at him confused. "What?"

"Thank you, John."

"For what?"

"For making Sherlock smile." John tilted him head slightly sideways, still confused. "In all the years that I have known Sherlock, there were only a few things Sherlock had ever cherished, and mind you, they were all material things. Since you've shown up...he's protective and somewhat cautious and actually cares about someone other than himself," he said as if he were a proud father. "I don't think anyone but you could have made Sherlock less...Sherlock-y."

John blushed and chuckled. "Stop being all soppy, Lestrade," he elbowed him again.

"I'm serious. It's a load off my back. I just hope that you feel the same way Sherlock feels."

"How does Sherlock feel?"

Lestrade chuckled, knowing the look of nervousness John was displaying. "Come on, John. Just because I'm a DI doesn't mean I'm the only one allowed to notice the obvious. The sparkle in his eye... The need to show off even more when you're around... John... I think the man is in l-"

John's hand slapped on Greg's lips, stunning him into silence. "DON'T!" Janet practically shrieked.

Lestrade's eyes widened dramatically. He didn't understand what had happened or if he had said something wrong. John trembled softly, but the weirdest thing Lestrade thought was the subtle shift in his voice. It was an octave softer than John's usual tone of voice. Greg knit his eyebrows together in confusion and looked at John, worried.

"You can't say that word... It's a trigger word..."

Greg took John's hand away from his mouth. "A-Are you... You're not John?" John tensed and slowly shrunk away from him. "N-no. Wait..." Lestrade cautiously reached out for him, but didn't touch him. "Um..." Greg stalled, trying to remember any information from his training with dealing with mental disorders. "W-which one are you?"

Janet looked down at her conjoined hands. She wasn't supposed to be doing this. Matt and Chad will be angry with her if they found out she was doing this... but she couldn't allow Greg to say something that would throw John into a flashback. He was making great progress in getting to know Lestrade. She didn't want the DI to think differently about John just because John might... fall out every once and a while.

"I-I'm... My name is Janet."

Lestrade nodded slowly, letting the information set in. "Janet... Did I, um...do something wrong?"

"You can't talk about certain...subjects around John. They trigger heinous flashbacks."

"What subjects are those?"

"His army days..., his family..., anything having to do with any type of relationship or love. It's been... A really complicated life he's lived since his father died."

Greg sighed, not wanting to pry. "Can I ask you a question, though?"

Janet bit her lip, thinking if it was a good idea. "What do you want to know?"

"There are more of you in there?" Janet nodded. "So...all the times that John and I have gone out in the past... Was that you instead of John?"

"John's not very social. It takes a long time for him to feel comfortable enough to trust someone. I'm the 'social' one, so it's my job to make friends for John. Sorry for the deceit."

"No, it's...totally understandable. So...Sherlock?"

"He's special, I guess. We've have never seen John take to someone as quickly as he did to him. There's a sort of love-hate thing going on there. He's good for John, and generally, we think he's okay, but he's pushing our influence on John away a little too quickly for our liking. We're not sure how he'll react when..."

"When what?" he asked when she didn't continue.

"Just... Do me or favor... Watch over John. He needs a friend like you to listen every once in a while. He can't tell Sherlock everything."

"You guys are leaving, aren't you?"

Janet sighed softly, fighting back a sad tear from falling. "We-" She stopped suddenly. She could hear Chad calling her. "I-I've got to go," she said quickly. "Don't tell John about this. It will crush him."

Lestrade moved to say something else, but Janet had already turned back into John. They stared at one another, John confused, Lestrade worried.

"Aren't you going to finish your sentence?"

Greg shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "What?"

"You were staying something about Sherlock... You think he's..."

"Y-yeah. Um... He..." He thought back, trying to remember what he had been talking about before Janet appeared. "Courting you...?" he tried. It was the best he could come up with without bringing up a relationship.

John frowned. "I changed," he said, more as a statement than a question. A look of horror crossed his face and he quickly jumped out of his chair. He felt sick. He had just started to have a good time, now, Lestrade probably thought of him as a freak or unstable. "I..." he couldn't get his words out, he was panicking so much. He started for the door.

"John!" Greg leaped up and grabbed his arm. John flinched, but Greg didn't let go, even when he started to tremble. "Where are you going?"

"I-I thought..." John wiped at his eye with his free hand, batting off any tears that threatened to spill.

"Did you not use to trade with another personality when we went out to a pub?" John winced. "Exactly. You're here so I can learn more about you. Only you, John. If that means you come with a few kinks in the computer, then so be it. I'm not going to run away because you are different. I know you won't be able to trust me yet, but at least trust my words. I'm not going anywhere."

John looked at his feet and took a few deep breathes. He listened to television finish off the national anthem and the crowd cheer as the announcer commented on the players getting into position. When he looked back up, the trembling had stopped. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome," Greg said, releasing his arm. "Now, I think we're here to watch a little rugby and have few drinks. I don't know about you, but that's what I intend to do."

John smiled. "Yeah. That sounds great." John sat back on his side of the couch and watched a Lestrade grabbed the bottles of now room temperature beer off the coffee table.

"I'll just go refresh these..."

John watched Lestrade go into the kitchen before turning to the television. A low buzzing sound came from something next to him. John turned just in time to see Greg's phone drop off the table next to the couch onto the carpet next to him. He reached down to pick it up and saw Sherlock's name flash across the screen as an envelope blinked under it.

"Oh," Greg said surprised, scaring John with his silent arrival. "Did my phone vibrate? I'd turn it off, but work and everything," he explained as he gave John one cold beer and grabbed his phone from John's hand with his free one. "Oh, look. It's your handler. Probably checking up on you again." He took a long swig of his beer before plopping down on the couch.

John chuckled at Lestrade's antics. "I probably have fifty of those by now." Greg found he kind of liked the sound of John's laugh and smiled back at him. "Really, Lestrade, thanks again," John said and took a sip of his own drink.

"Call me Greg," Lestrade said after a few seconds.

"Really?" John asked, shocked.

"Yeah. Lestarde is my stage name," he chuckled deviously. "I'd like to think of us as something like friends in the future."

There was a loud cheer from the television as one of the home team players started the game with a kick off. The away team huddled around their catcher and thrust him into the air. They made sure he caught it before dropping him and splitting up, making a horizontal line across the field while a couple of players stayed behind him to defend him and the ball if they needed to.

John waited until they quieted down a bit before replying. "I'd like that."

Greg took a deep breath and groaned as his head fell back to the back of the couch. "I feel as if I just asked you on a date..." he moaned. He quickly sat up straight and looked at John seriously. "Don't you dare tell Sherlock that! He'll have my head."

John chuckle darkly. "Well, Greg," he said, trying out the name, "I don't know if I'd be able to keep my it from my flat mate. He'll ask me how my night went and I can't possibly lie to him. How about a little wager on tonight's game?" he asked, raising one eyebrow.

"No wonder you and Holmes get on so well. You're practically as devious as him," Greg poked him with his elbow. "Well, get on with it. What's the bet?"

"If Scotland wins, I get 100 quid and Sherlock might find out. If England wins, the story never leaks out beyond these walls."

"You're on! There is no way Scotland will win with Johnny Wilkinson on our team!"

"Don't count out Tom Court. It's been a good season for him so far."

Greg scoffed. "Watch and learn, John. See how a traitor feel after his precious team loses! Let's go Wilkinson! I've got 100 quid and my dignity riding on your ass!"


	25. The Love of Drugs Part 1

###### 

John stumbled up the stairs to flat 221B as quietly as his drunkenness would allow him to. After a few minutes trying to remember how to twist the door knob correctly, John let himself in and closed the door. "Shh..." John shushed when it slammed loudly.

Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow from his station by the window. He winced when he heard John crash into something solid and cause various contents to fall onto the floor. "John?" he asked, cautiously, as he walked into the kitchen. 

John lay splayed out on the floor on his back, surrounded by a few shattered pieces of glasses and a ceramic mug. "S-ssherlock!" he shouted, eyes wide and bloodshot, as if he expected not to get caught. "What are you doing here?" he slurred. 

Sherlock walked over to John and squat down until he was sitting on his heels. "You're home, John."

"Home?" he hummed as if it was a foreign concept. "I like home... Matt's there...and Janet...and Chad..." he hiccupped. "Sherlock's there to... I like Sherlock."

Sherlock smiled slightly and rubbed the fringe from John's forehead. John hummed under his ministrations. "Did you have fun tonight?" Sherlock asked softly. 

"Beer is really good..." he answered. 

Sherlock sighed. He'd have to talk to Lestrade about John's drinking. It probably wasn't a good idea to get sloshed in his condition. "Come on John, off the floor."

"D-don't tell Sherlock I broke a few of his test tubes. He'll be angry," he whispered loudly. 

Sherlock put an arm under each of John's shoulder and helped levy John off the floor. He kept a firm grip around his waist as John swayed. Sherlock brushed off any stuck on glass and surveyed him for injuries as John steadied himself. "Turn around," Sherlock commanded. He continued to pat John off as he turned until he was sure there were no more traces of glass. "Can you stay standing if I let go of you, or are you going to end up on the floor again?" John swayed quietly, smiling and giggling at Sherlock's nose, when a hiccupped almost caused him to tumble back onto the floor. "I guess that's a no..." Sherlock huffed as he caught John and maneuvered him to lean on a counter. "Stay here. I'm just going to get you a glass of water."

"No water! Beer! We need some more beer!"

"No more beer. You smell as if you were practically drowned in the stuff." John laughed and shook his head. "Drink," Sherlock commanded before the other could speak, "or else you are going to find out why you shouldn't drink like a fish in the morning."

John took the cup and started to drink. "Yuck. What is in here?" he demanded, pushing the cup back toward Sherlock, spilling some of the contents on the front of his coat. 

"It's just faucet water. Drink it."

"Okay..." he hummed. He drank a few more gulps before setting the cup on the edge of the counter and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck. "You're very comfy," John sighed as he leaned into his chest. 

"To bed." Sherlock moved the glass further away from the edge of the counter and started to unwrap John's arms from around his neck. Sherlock slung one of John's arms over his shoulders and headed towards the direction of John's room. They stumbled and tripped as Sherlock lead John though the main room towards the stairs. "Can you make it up?"

John looked at the stairs that lead to his room. He stared at the first one and licked his lips, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. Maybe, if he stared hard enough, the stairs would just carry him up to his room. John's foot hovered over the first step, not sure which step was real and which were just doubles. 

"Okay, let's go this way," Sherlock commanded when they hadn't made any progress yet. He led him down the short hall that leads to his room. 

"This is Sherlock's room..." John slurred softly. 

"I know," Sherlock said as he opened the door and turned on the light. "You can't make it to your room and you really need to sleep," he explained. He deposited John on his bed and helped him take off his shoes. "I'll be right back. Don't get up."

Sherlock quickly went back into the kitchen and grabbed the glass of water and a couple of Advil tablets. When he returned, John was curled up on one side of the bed, his back facing him. Sherlock quietly walked over to John's sleeping figure and set the water and medication down on the bedside table. He leaned over John's body to see if the man was really asleep when an arm shot out and encompassed his waist. He was quickly flipped over onto the bed and pinned beneath John before he even had time to react. He should never let his guard down around Drunk John. John was even more sneaky inebriated than not. 

"John..." Sherlock huffed.

John buried his face in Sherlock's neck and softly nuzzled the exposed skin. He giggled, the vibrations shaking them both. "I fooled ya... You thought I was asleep," he slurred. 

"Yes, John. Very good. Now, you have to get off and go to sleep. You're still drunk. I know for a fact you are not faking that."

"I'm not tired," he mumbled into his skin, placing a soft kiss on the exposed skin. "I want to do something..."

"Like what?"

"I don't know... Something we can both enjoy..." John tried seductively, but it fell short due to a burp that snuck up on him. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "We both enjoy sleeping," he tried."

"You never sleep unless your body makes you," John pouted, sad Sherlock has just blatantly lied to him. He gave Sherlock's shoulder a small nip in revenge. 

"John...," he sighed. "You need to get off."

"I agree. Let's do that Sherlock. Let's have sex."

Sherlock stared up at John, shocked. He guessed the whole coy, seductive tactic was out the window. "John," he gasped, speechless. 

"Do you not want to? Do you not like me like that?"

"No, no, no, John. It's just... We..." Sherlock shut his eyes and tried to rub the impending headache away. "John, you're drunk; if only that were the only problem with this," he said offhand. Sherlock opened his mouth to continue, but quickly shut it in favor to think for a minute. He had been trying to lure John into his bed for a while. He'd be able to complete this aspect of his experiment and move onto the final part. There was still John's condition to take into effect. John is drunk. Usually, he wouldn't be propositioning, so everyday sober John wouldn't like the fact that he had just had drunken sex with a sober Sherlock. Plus, the reliability of the experiment would be compromised do to the variable of John being drunk. It would be different if he were sober. in addition, morning, sober John would probably panic and feel violated from being taken advantage. That couldn't be good on their growing relationship and for his condition. 

"John... I know you," he said patiently. "You don't actually want this. What kind of person would I be if I took advantage of your vulnerability?"

"A very well fucked man." John dissolved into a fit of giggles. After a few seconds, he stopped and cleared his throat. "Sorry about the language. I mean a well laid man."

"John," Sherlock growled slightly. "Under no circumstances are we doing anything like that. You need to sleep and to stop treating me like I'm a chair. Get off."

"Then what are we going to do?" John whined. "I don't want to go to bed. I'm not tired."

"Well, you're not fit to go to bed in this state. Maybe if you got more comfortable, you'd feel sleepier." Sherlock nudged and pushed an uncooperative John back to his side of the bed. "Come on...jacket off," he commanded as he helped John shrug off the jacket. "Jumper too." Sherlock moved down to pull off John's socks. He dropped them next to John's shoes before crawling back up the bed and leaned against the headboard. "See, isn't this better? Doesn't it make you...sleepy?"

John sighed and turned towards Sherlock, throwing an arm over his body. "I'm still not tired," he slurred softly, yawning on the contrary. "Talk to me."

"Umm... I thought you didn't drink."

"I never said I didn't drink, I said I don't like to get drunk..."

"And why was this night so different?"

John giggled, "Beer is really good." Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. "And Greg is a really nice friend." Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow, but didn't have a chance to comment before John continued. "Drunk is bad, though," he sighed. "Can't stop the nightmares... The flashbacks..."

"The flashbacks?" Sherlock asked as he ran his hand through John's hair. 

"They break through..."

Sherlock hummed. "Have to tell Lestrade about letting you drink so much then."

"Greg's a good friend..." John giggled. 

"So you have said. So, you're friends now?"

"Yeah... He's a good friend."

"Moving on...," he sighed exasperated. "What did you do?"

"Talk." 

"Obviously. Please elaborate."

"We talked about me...," John drawled, making small circles with his finger on the side of Sherlock's thigh, "…;about you...about rugby." Sherlock hummed, processing the information. "He told me about your drug addiction."

Sherlock stiffened. John let out a whine of discontent when the stroking stopped and looked up at Sherlock. "He what?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrows knitting together with confusion. 

"He wouldn't tell me everything, though. He said...he said that you should tell me the more graphic details... but, the overall choice was to be yours. He told me the basics."Sherlock hummed, thinking. He began stroking John's hair once more. "Will you tell me?" John asked so quietly Sherlock almost missed the question. 

Sherlock sighed. "John, you're drunk. You probably won't even remember it if I told you."

"You never know... I have a pretty good memory. Three other people and all," he stated proudly, holding up two fingers. 

"And why didn't these 'three other people' stop you from consuming so much alcohol?"

"I don't know?" John answered truthfully, confused himself. 

"John," Sherlock sighed. "I didn't tell you about that part because I didn't want that to influence our working relationship."

"But, now we are past that, aren't we? Aren't we practicing trust?"

"You know how I hate to repeat myself, so I think it would be best-"

"On and on with excuses... If you don't want to tell me, then just tell me so. Don't make up excuses," he growled, grumpy. He turn away from Sherlock and tried to give him a cold shoulder. 

Sherlock sighed. Of course John, even drunk, could see when Sherlock was trying to dance around the subject. 

"I-it was a period in my life I'm not too fond of. I don't usually tell people because it's just another weakness they can use against me."

John glanced over his shoulder softly, not sure if he wanted to turn around just yet. 

Sherlock rung his hands, unsure if he was willing to commit to this decision of letting John know his darkest secret. He hadn't told anyone his true feelings about his addiction, due partially to the fact of a lack of people who bothered to want to know and a lack of trust in the ones who did. Mycroft only knew the surface of the addiction, just as everyone else, but he kept the real struggle locked away inside where no one will discover it. 

"I-I had always excelled at equations and studies set before me. I was young and juvenile and I felt I was invincible..." Sherlock let out a long, strained sigh. "I guess there are parts of me that is not so unusual compared to others. I hear a lot of people at that age go through that faze..." he said, off hand. 

John frowned. It seemed that this subject was going to be very hard for Sherlock to get off his chest. He had never seen Sherlock squirm when discussing a certain subject. Usually, when he didn't want to talk about something, he'd just skirt around the subject. But this, this seemed too personal. Almost as if he was struggling with himself to tell him. 

John reached up to put his hand over Sherlock's mouth, but due to the alcohol, he ended up on the corner of his mouth. Sherlock knitted his eyebrows in confusion. John squinted his eyes and poked the area his hand felt. He knew it felt wrong and moved his hand around until Sherlock's mouth was mostly beneath his hand. 

"I don't want to seem like I've man-ip-u-la-ted," he said slowly, breaking down the word he had trouble saying, "you into telling me this."

Sherlock looked deeply into John's eyes, looking for anything that would tell him what was going through John's head. 

"You're right. I'm too drunk to actively listen and remember this conversation. Tell me tomorrow," John sighed and wobbled a little bit before going limp and flopping back onto the mattress, unconscious. 

Sherlock quickly reached out for John before he fell off the edge of the bed and wrestled him towards the center. He sighed, quickly glancing over John to make sure he was okay before getting off his bed. Sherlock placed a bin next to the side of John in case he had any...business he had to attend to in the morning. 

Sherlock looked down at John. Even though he didn't look particularly comfortable, the sight of John sleeping in his bed seemed...perfect. The thought of sharing a bed with another human being had never actually seemed appealing, but it hadn't been so bad last time he had slept next to John. In fact, he had been quite comfortable. Nice even, if he were being truthful. 

Sherlock stumbled back. He placed a hand over his racing heart, shocked. A thought like that had never crossed his mind. Out of all the times he had ever felt lonely or even frightened, he had never craved the attention of another person. He was growing too fond of his subject. It wasn't smart. It would create biases and skew his results. How could he have ever let it get this far? 

John moved on the bed, catching Sherlock's attention. He held his breath, praying that John wouldn't awaken. A few seconds later, John settled into a more comfortable position and quickly fell back into a deep sleep. 

Sherlock relax slightly. This thing he had with John was getting to be too much. He was too involved with things John did outside of the experiment or even outside of their friendship. He knew he needed to take a step back, but that would be easier said than done. He had grown a certain...fondness for John. A habit was always hard to break and John would be the hardest of them all. 

Sherlock walked across the room and turned off the light. He turned back to make sure John would be fine before leaving his room and shutting the door. He'd stay out on the couch tonight. He needed the space to think about what he was going to do.


	26. The Love of Drugs Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me. i still love the favs and comments and such. Yep. still continuing it until its done, so (hopefully) no worries. Thanks.
> 
> ###### 
> 
> Ominousness ahead

###### 

John woke the next day with a stiff neck and a splitting headache, but at least he wasn't nauseous. He cracked an eye open to a darkened room, thanking whomever decided to keep the curtains shut that morning. John spotted the aspirin on the bedside table and quickly grabbed them, and swallowed them one at a time, drinking water in between. 

John sat up slowly up, feeling his body protest with every action. Looking around the room, John realized that this wasn't his own. He also realized the owner of that room was nowhere to be seen. John groaned, feeling another flare of pain through his head. It was taking too much effort to think about his surroundings or what it meant.

Even though the bed was calling him back to sleep, John knew that he needed to get up. He swore then and there that he would never drink so much ever again, but knew it probably was a lie. If he was going to continue to hang out with Greg, he'd probably drink his body weight in beer before the night was over. 

John groaned, slowly getting off of the bed and started moving at a slug's pace towards the door. It took him a few minutes of painful thinking of what needed to be done before he opened the bedroom door and headed towards the bathroom. 

Sherlock's train of thought was broken by the sound of a loud floor board groaning in protest followed by another protesting groan. He stoically turned to look at John, wondering if now was a good time to talk. "John?"

John grit his teeth as the creak in the floorboard sounded as if it were screaming. He took a few strained breathes as the sound grated on his frail nerves. He heard his name being called by his flat mate, but waited until his head was a little calmer before answering him. "Just...let me go to the bathroom before you ask anything. I think I'll be up to whatever you're about to say when I'm a little more put together."

John continued to the bathroom slowly, much to the displeasure of his flat mate. John could feel that Sherlock was anxious to tell him something and that his slow pace was making him impatient, but right now, he could care less. He closed the door behind him and looked at himself in the mirror. It seemed as if death had taken him, chewed him up, and spit him back out. John looked terrible. His eyes were red and bloodshot. He looked pale and sickly and there were large, dark bags beneath his eyes. He felt as if something fuzzy died in his mouth and the little bit of nausea at the bottom of his stomach wouldn't go away. 

John ran cold water and splashed a few handfuls on his face to sober him up completely. He dabbed away the majority of the droplets falling from his face with a hand towel before reaching for his toothbrush and toothpaste. 

'Disappointed is the only word I can think of that would describe my feelings toward you right now.'

John rolled his eyes at Chad's dramatics and winced at the volume if his tone. He stuck the brush in his mouth and started working on getting the gross fuzzy feeling out of it. 

'Don't roll your eyes at me,' Chad sighed angrily. 'What you did was irresponsible. You know what drinking alone does for your routine... but excessive drinking? That was reckless and just plain stupid.'

"Look, I'm fine okay. It's not like I had any nightmares or anything. I slept throughout the night...that's a good sign," John grumbled. 

'Just because you don't remember having flashbacks doesn't mean you didn't have any. Not only that, you made a complete fool of yourself last night.'

"I had fun. Is that such a crime?"

'When you're doing it so irresponsibly, yes. You're a medical practitioner; you especially need to be thinking about your health.'

"I am hardly a doctor than the rest of us. Janet knows most of the extensive things. Plus, it was only one night. I think I can screw around for one night without screwing up my whole routine."

'It doesn't even take one night for you to be set back. You were once making great progress in your condition-'

"I still am!"

'No. You're just acting like this is one big joke.'

"Me? I had been doing quite fine even before you came along and were created. Out of all four of us, I'm sure I know my body best."

'What happened to you John? You used to be so cautious...so responsible. Now, you act as if you don't even have a disease.'

"Cautious was boring. I find that I might as well enjoy the life I have now. I only have one. Maybe it's for the best that I don't think about my disease. 'Let thy mind heal thy self...' or something like that. " John spit out a mouthful of toothpaste and rinsed his mouth.

'You are going to relapse if you continue to think like this.'

"Sherlock will be there to catch me if I fall."

'You're putting too much trust in him. You're obviously blinded by his charm to notice that he's not good for you to rely on.'

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean we all are."

'When Sherlock screws up, you're going to be the one who will be destroyed- not him.'

"You have no evidence to base that on!"

'Just because you don't see the evidence doesn't mean it is not there!' Chad allowed a few second of silence, letting his declaration settle in. 

"Have you found something that will back up your claim?"

'Even if I did have proof, you probably still wouldn't believe me.'

"You have that right."

'There was once a time that you hung on my every word.'

"Soon enough, I realized your flaws."

'You became blinded by lust.'

"Not by lust. By something more."

'They're both the same in your case. Even you cannot say the big "L" word yet. You cannot honestly say that you suddenly believe in it.'

"With him...I think I can."

Chad sighed harshly. 'I was in Sherlock's room the other day. Found some interesting literature in the form of a red notebook in his bedside table. If you want to prove me wrong, then look in there.'

"I'm not going to play games with you, Chad. Leave it well enough alone and stop trying to find fault in Sherlock. You're starting to turn into Matt."

'I only do what I feel is best for you, but it's your life, John. But don't say I didn't-'

A loud knock startled them both. "John? Are you okay in there? It was quiet for a while but as I approached, I heard you arguing with yourself."

John scowled into the mirror before opening the bathroom door. He turned towards Sherlock and threw his arms around his waist, enveloping him into a hug. He buried his face into his startled flat mate's chest and took a deep breath. "Make the voices in my head go away."

Sherlock's answering chuckle rang through his chest. He bent down and softly placed a kiss on John's forehead before saying, "they are your alters. If you say it like that, people are going to think your schizophrenic and, though I'd still accept you, let's not add any more disorders to your plate." John answered in a hum. "Is your headache bad?"

"Kind of. That fight just made it worst, but it's manageable. Why?"

"I wanted to talk to you about last night," Sherlock explained as he released himself from John and lead them over to the couch. 

John sighed longingly. "You too? Look, I'm sorry I made a fool of myself and slightly disrupted my routine. As I told Chad, I was just having a bit of fun-"

"I was not talking about that. I'm glad you had a fun time getting drunk," he said the last word with distain, "but I wanted to continue the conversation we had last night." John scratched the back of his head in confusion. "You really were drunk, weren't you?" He sighed. "No matter. We'll just start again.

Sherlock sat on the couch and crossed his legs. He turned his body to face John so could study his face during his little excerpt about his life. "It was in my college years that I started my drug addiction... Everyone was doing something to help them study and to get more done in less time. I did it to stop my brain from tearing itself apart due to its constant running. Again, I was juvenile and stupid. I thought that nothing could ever harm me and that everyone else's opinions of me were below me. 

"It was one of my classmates that introduced me to cocaine. I had complained plenty of times that everyone and everything in the world just being so dull. I have never, in all my years of living on this earth, tried any other recreational drugs most teens and young adults have. I have found no interest in trying marijuana, and LSD would just kill my brain, not entertain it. If I could get my hands on it, I used morphine to calm me down and help me to relax, but, for the most part, cocaine was my drug of choice. I was able to work faster, longer, and work out problems more accurately. With cocaine, I was at my peak. I was passing all my course work with high marks and felt as if the world had suddenly gotten so much clearer..."

Sherlock sighed and looked down at his hands. John felt a knot starting to form in his stomach. Sherlock seemed a little too passionate about his "good times" while on drugs. John could see Sherlock subconsciously rub his arm, making John fidget with a want to reach out and take his hand away from there. 

"...But along with the high points came some low points also. Soon enough, I realized that sobriety wasn't as fun as life when I was high. In fact, my brain seemed more compelled to demand more stimuli that would distract it. It felt like only cocaine had that power. As soon as I mastered my subject, I realized that I had plenty of free time on my hands. Too much free time that my brain didn't know how to cope with..., so, in response, I increased my use of cocaine to combat my boredom. I didn't care what it was doing to my body or my mind, all I cared about was that I was literally living the high life. I didn't see how it was actually affecting my life and the life of others around me- not that I cared much. It was fine if cocaine was my only friend. It never complained. It didn't mind if I randomly woke up in an alley, cold and soaked from morning dew. It helped me through comedown and helped pick me up when I fell. It helped me find my way back to my flat and comforted me when I felt lower than dirt. It was there for me when I felt no one else was."

John reached out for Sherlock's and gave it a gentle squeeze. Sherlock gave a returning squeeze, but didn't look up at John. 

"I was so stupid, John. I actually thought that this drug would, in no way, affect me. I thought I was actually above anything this drug's reputation was. I thought that the drug couldn't control me, or that I would be able to walk away without a scratch, but, before I knew it, it had me wrapped around its needle. 

"Life wasn't perfect during that time, but I was too stubborn to turn and ask for help. I still held onto my belief that I could get a hold on my addiction and be able to save myself without my brother's help. The thought was futile. The only thing we will agree on (of course not in front of his face) is that him forcing me to stop was probably the best way. Even though I chose to continually use after my first release, he never gave up on me..." Sherlock whispered in an almost shocked awe. He coughs to himself and cleared his throat. "Probably for his career," he sneered. "I'm sure a drug addicted brother wouldn't look very good on his spotless record."

Sherlock sighed. "Even after my struggles to overcome my addiction, I don't think it was as bad as people claim it to be. My brother and everyone else likes to make such a big fuss about it... Everyone keeps a watchful eye on me as if I am not competent enough to make my own decisions. They say that they're worried, but..."

"Sherlock," John soothed, and reached up into Sherlock's hair to run his fingers through it. "At least some part of them does care about you. They'd rather not see you end up in a wooden box in the earth. You have too much talent to waste it on decomposing." Sherlock gave John a small smile. "Think of all the good you've done. Even if you don't care about that sort of thing, you've proven everyone that said you'd never amount to anything wrong. What would we do without you around? Life would be pretty boring." 

"Yes... What would you do?" Sherlock asked smugly. "How would Lestrade be able to close a single investigation?"

"Oh, I doubt he'd be able," John answered sarcastically. "It's not like he made Inspector before you started helping him. ...oh, wait!"

John started to laugh, earning a glare from Sherlock. The scowl soon made its way into smile. Sherlock could never be angry when John was laughing. His laugh was so...funny. If he wanted to, he could probably join in on John's laughter, but another thing was currently on his mind. John seemed to glow whenever he laughed or smile. It lit up the whole room. No wonder John was always so quick to make friends or catch a date. John cared about those around him and his personality was contagious. John just never opened up enough. Sherlock could feel his mood brightening along with John's. How did he ever manage to meet someone like John- let alone be able to live and be his friend? Anyone else probably would have been gone by now. John...John was different. John was home and acceptance. John was unique. 

Sherlock quickly swooped down and softly captured John's lips, cutting off his laughter. John stilled, caught off guard, before slowly shutting his eyes. John sighed softly and moved to put a little more pressure, but, by then, the second pair of lips was gone. John opened his eyes, confused, but something about the way Sherlock looked at him kept him from asking. Instead, he waited. 

Sherlock looked at John, shocked, mouth wide open. He hadn't thought about kissing John, it just...happened! He had been thinking about how important John was up him... "I- I..."

John raised a questioning eyebrow, waiting. 

"I...have a case to attend to."

John's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "What?" 

"I mean we have a case...if you're up for it."

John blinked a few times, clearing his head. "Um...sure. Just let me get dressed."

"I will do the same and meet you here in exactly four minutes."

Sherlock quickly sprinted up the stairs, leaving a largely confused John behind. Sherlock closed his door loudly and leaned against it. He took a deep breath, going over the last few seconds in his mind. Was he really just about to tell John what he thought he was? He knew he held a special place for John above everyone else, but was he really prepared to believe that he may possibly be in love with him? He was a sociopath; incapable if loving anyone. Though, he mused, if he were to start to love anyone, it no doubt would have been John. By far, it wasn't the first time they had shared a kiss, but it seemed different this time, not including the part where John didn't get the chance to return the kiss. 

John was his experiment, though, not his potential mate or lover or anything like that. His experiment on finding the inner working of John's mind was still his main issue. Any "feelings" or "emotions" will have to wait to be thought about another day. He needed to concentrate and not compromise his experiment. John is just an experiment! Plain and simple. 

A knock on the door startled Sherlock out if his head. "Sherlock?" John called through the door, "Are you ready yet? It's been past four minutes..."

Sherlock looked down at his clothing and was surprised he was already dressed. He must have been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn't been consciously aware of him dressing himself. Sherlock shook off the rest of his dazed look and opened the door. "Come along, John. You're behind. No, don't argue," Sherlock cut John off as he started to descend the stairs, "Just hurry up. We're going to be late."

"It's a crime scene, Sherlock. It's not going anywhere."

Sherlock hummed. "Yes, but you know how I get when others put their grimy hands all over it."

"It's the police, Sherlock. It's their job to survey the scene. "

"It's their job to find out who the murderer is. If they could do that, they wouldn't need me. Since they do need me, I require certain information that I get from the crime scene. Therefore, I need the crime scene in its most original condition."

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. Fine, fine. You don't have to be so dramatic." John rubbed the side of his temples. "I don't think I have the patience to deal with it today." John reached out and grabbed Sherlock's hand. Sherlock looked down at their joined hands momentarily, but didn't comment. This was the right going in the right direction. So why was he suddenly feeling so bad?

###### 

Mycroft watched with content as Irene finally broke. He had to give her credit for lasting this long, though everyone broke in the end. Mycroft always came out on top, no matter how tough or intelligent someone was, there is a point that shatters them completely. 

Mycroft walked into the room confidently, a knowing smirk on his face. He took pleasure in the now noticeable tremors that wracked her body. Her once natural beauty was hidden behind constant mental and physical wear. She was paler than usual and there was a twinge of stench attached to her for the last 12 hours. Her nails were chipped from tapping on the table and her eyes were set on Mycroft; nervousness and curiosity prominent. 

"Well, well, well. I hear that you are ready to finally come clean. What happened? Decided that it wasn't worth it?" He asked with feigned concern. 

"Mr. Holmes," she growled. "I have been here for only God knows how long," her voice trembled slightly, "I have been humiliated, I have been threatened, and I'm pretty damn sure that my husband is somewhere in this hell hole wondering what has happened to me. I have plans, Mycroft Holmes. Plans that I am not willing to give up to join in on this little feud you have with your brother. I have indulged you long enough. What I think you are trying to do with this information is a bad idea, but, right now, I don't care. I just want to be pampered and to get out of these wretched clothes."

"And your wish shall be my command, but only after I find out what I want to know."

Irene bit her chapped lip and sighed. "He has a mental disease."

"I know about his PTSD-"

"It's not only that-" she cut off, impatient. "He has a somewhat rarer one that hasn't made its way into pesky files stupid intelligence officers can look at whenever they want."

"Anger in place of fear is not a good color on you, Irene. I suspected more..."

Irene crossed her arms. "Do you want me to tell you or not?" 

"You were going to anyway..." He said matter-of-factly. 

Irene huffed. "He has DID."


	27. Broken Trust Reaps Harsh Consequences

###### 

Sherlock and John stumbled into the flats, lips locked and hands wondering. It had been too close of a call tonight for both of them. If the murderer had been a second sooner or John a second late... Sherlock didn't want to think what that might have meant. He pushed John into the nearest wall and continued their harsh and biting kiss.

"John, John, John," Sherlock droned over and over every time they broke for air.

John cupped Sherlock's cheeks and held him back to look into his eyes. "I'm still here, Sherlock. I'm fine. I'm not going anywhere," he softly whispered.

Sherlock pushes forward, knocking John's head against the wall as he locks their lips again. "I-I didn't know that he'd come back- I didn't know and I was supposed to know. I could have gotten you killed, John!"

"But you didn't, Sherlock," he soothed, rubbing his shoulders. "You think I'd do these things with you without knowing there are risks involved? I think that was the thing I found most attractive about you," John said with a smile. "It's not your fault if I had gotten hurt. I agreed to run around after you, making sure you don't get hurt. If that means I'm a target, so be it."

Sherlock stared at John quietly for a moment, letting his words sink in, before wrapping his arms around his John's waist. "That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me."

This time, Sherlock softly swooped down and connected their lips together, thanking John for being unique; or not being like everyone else he's had to deal with since the beginning of his life.

It soon turned from a soft caress of lips to passion as each thought about what could have been lost that day. John's hands roamed over Sherlock's chest and back as Sherlock pulled John as close as possibly. John trailed wet, open mouth kisses down and under his jaw, nuzzling the skin. Sherlock hummed, clenching and unclenching the hem of John's jumper. He wanted oh-so badly to just rip it off and feel the raised flesh where scars of many stories hid; to feel the warmth John hid beneath these layers of unnecessary clothes.

John trailed a line with his tongue from Sherlock's jugular up to his ear.

Sherlock moaned, savoring the tingling line of pleasure making its way down his spine. He felt John slowly pushing his coat from his shoulders and was only too happy to help its journey along. John smiled and as soon as the coat was on the floor, their lips locked once again.

John moaned, enjoying the feeling of their tongues sliding and fingers roaming. Without the coat in the way, John could feel Sherlock's... interest more prominent through his pants, but, he wasn't as put off by it as last time. John's fingers traced along Sherlock's shoulders and met at the first button of his shirt. Though John wanted to savor the moment and to see Sherlock's every reaction to being disrobed, he decided he wanted to feel Sherlock's skin now.

Sherlock gasped, but it quickly turned into a moan as John practically ripped the buttons from their holes. "John," he begged, arching into him. He struggled to get his arms out of the sleeves as John pulled the tails of his shirt out if his pants. Finally free, Sherlock flung it behind him without a care and went back to making a line of dark bruises down the side of John's neck.

"John..." Sherlock hummed as John's fingers slowly slid down his chest towards the hem of his trousers. "John- I just... I want..." Sherlock licked his lips, trying and failing to finish a sentence. "I love you, John," he panted before bringing John's lips back to his.

John stiffened at Sherlock's confession. He- He what?

Sherlock slowed as he started to realize John wasn't as active as he was a few seconds ago. A few seconds of reflection had him understanding why. "No, no, no," Sherlock chanted, trying to take the words back. "John. I-I'm sorry. I- I didn't..." He didn't actually want to say that he didn't mean it; because he never said anything he didn't actually believe (at least at the time). True, it was poor timing, but he didn't plan on saying it until he was truly ready. He guessed his mind made that decision for him, but he'd also rather wished that he had time to deal with it.

"I-I... I can't do..." John said quietly, disentangling himself from his grasp. "I have..." he tried to explain as he backed towards the stairs, starting to tremble slightly.

"Please, John, wait," Sherlock begged as he grabbed onto his wrist.

"No, Sherlock. Just...please. I just...need time." John took his hand back forcefully and hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice him shivering.

John closed his door, and sat against it. He could feel as small panic attack coming on, but it wasn't like his usual breakdowns. The situation had just became too suffocating, he felt like he wouldn't be able to breathe. It was a big revelation and he didn't want Sherlock seeing him start to break. John took a shaky breath, trying to calm down the tremors wracking through his body. He wasn't going to break down. Mentally, he knew this, but physically, his body didn't get the memo.

Why wasn't he going to break? John thought to himself. Someone had just fallen in love with him and confessed their admiration. Usually, that would send him off running into the night, cowering in an alley trying to escape the dark convictions of his mind. Why was it so different with Sherlock? They hadn't actually formed a relationship per-say, but they had been closer than just friends. Was it because John had also, maybe, fallen in love with Sherlock too? It was still a mystery how that had also happened. Sherlock had unconventionally broken through all of his walls and, the next thing he knew, he's head over heels for him. He'd lie if he'd say it wasn't a relief that Sherlock felt that strongly about him. He was afraid that it was only one sided or that he was being lead on.

But none of this considered the big question though. If he did decide to love Sherlock, would he be able to live and adapt to everything that came after? Obviously, they'd most likely have sex, if tonight was anything to go by. They did have a pretty healthy sexual appetite for one another, but John still wasn't comfortable enough to show Sherlock the skin underneath. He had gone to great pains to hide it for this long, he wasn't ready to just rip off his shirt and see a mixture of horror and curiosity on Sherlock's face (cause no doubt, Sherlock would be curious). But he did love his current relationship with Sherlock and knew that love would only add to it. He wanted to be able to wake up in Sherlock's arms, being awakened by a kiss before fleeing from the flat, chasing after a new killer. He wanted to walk down the street, hands locked and a smile on each of their faces as they took on the world. He wanted to fully be there for Sherlock and be as non-broken as possible and only Sherlock could give him all those things he desires. It couldn't be too bad. John loved Sherlock too. There might be some times where things might not be perfect, but, if Sherlock was there at the end of the day, John felt that he wouldn't mind too much.

John took a final deep breath, feeling calm wash over him. He felt good about this. Maybe...maybe he had self-healed himself or he was no longer affected by his condition. He sincere hoped, but with Sherlock, his symptoms always seemed at bay. Sherlock was good for him, and, at least to everyone else, he was good for Sherlock. So why was he stopping this?

John picked himself up off of the floor and turned towards the door.

###### 

Sherlock watched John walk away from him, angry and confused. He picked his shirt up off the floor and headed towards his own room, frustrated sexually and mentally. He felt so stupid. Of course John would run away from him also. It's how John always coped with things like this. Why did he even think that he'd be able to tell John such a thing and expect him to just fall into his arms? Why did he think he would be an exception?

Sherlock fell onto his bed face down and rooted around his bedside table for a cigarette. His fingers brushed over the smooth surface of his notebook. He brought it out of the shelf and turned over onto his back to look at it.

'Why did he start this stupid thing in the first place?' he wondered as he flipped through the pages. What was the point? Was it always just to find out about John's past, or was it just an excuse to get closer to John than everyone else. It was at first, at least. He had devoted most of his time learning about John and his different personalities for the last few months. He had never devoted so much as a second glance to most people he met.

Sherlock dropped the notebook on his face. He didn't want John to be his experiment anymore. He wanted John to be able to love him also.

It probably would have been better not get involved with John in the first place.

###### 

John realized he had been upstairs longer than he thought. All the lights downstairs were off and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. John quietly walked over to Sherlock's room and quietly opened the door. "Sherlock?" He called quietly. John looked around the door.

One of the bedside table lamps were set on low, lighting just enough to see Sherlock laying on his bed. John crept over to the side of him. A red notebook caught his attention, and not only because it covered Sherlock's eyes. John remembered what Chad had said about a notebook, but it didn't prove that Sherlock was doing anything bad. Sherlock did plenty of experiments. It didn't mean that he did them on him. He trusted Sherlock enough not to. Who cares about what Chad said? He was always trying to make Sherlock out to be the bad guy.

John cautiously took the notebook off of Sherlock's face. Sherlock's eyes were closed and he seemed to have a look of serene peace. His breathing was even and slow, letting John know that he was asleep. John placed the notebook on the side of the bed and went to pace at the foot. Should he wake Sherlock up and tell him, or should he wait until morning? It was a pretty big revelation, but Sherlock did hardly get any sleep. Maybe he should just let him sleep and tell him in the morning.

In the process of his thinking, the red notebook kept winking at him in the corner of his eye. He didn't know why it kept bothering him. It was just Sherlock's observations notebook, and therefore Sherlock's private thoughts. He had no right to look into that journal...but there was a nagging feeling in him to just take a peek. He didn't know if it was just his trust issues or to try to prove Chad wrong, but something made John walk over to the notebook and pick it back up.

John made sure Sherlock was still sleeping peacefully before carefully sitting on the side of the bed. He flipped open to a random page and started to read an excerpt.

_Improvement in social empathy causes improvement of trust. Trust allows room for obvious deceit and lies without any questions asked. Need more data to form accurate conclusion._

His name popped up once or twice, but it wasn't anything he had to be worried about. It certainly didn't prove that Sherlock was experimenting on him. Maybe Chad had only said that to rile him up.

A large snore from Sherlock startled John, causing him to drop the notebook on the floor. John watched as Sherlock softly batted his face before settling back into sleep. John let out a sigh of relief and looked down to make sure the notebook wasn't damaged. The notebook had landed open, but face down. John bent down and sighed when he saw a few of the pages had been bent in the drop. Sherlock would know he had been looking through his stuff. John was pretty sure Sherlock wouldn't be happy.

John reclaimed his spot on the bed and started to work out the creases he had added. The tried to smooth the paper back into a somewhat straight page when he noticed that most if not all the pages had similar creases in the center. Some were folded forward while others were folded backward. He wondered if it was like this on purpose, as if you had to read it in a code.

John followed the fold and folded the first page in half backwards. He did the same with the adjacent page, except he folded forwards towards the middle of the notebook. John tried reading it like that and found that the note book now held a different message than before.

_John shows improvement in trust. Blindly follows me into any situation, no questions asked. Development of trust has led to development in personal life also. Need more data to form accurate conclusion on how much progress has been made._

John flipped to a few more pages and folded the pages the same way he had before.

_John has currently demonstrated a struggle between his personalities and himself. From observations, John is eager do whatever I ask, but his personalities struggle to keep a reign in him. Soon, John will no longer listen to his personalities and will be easier to manipulate._

John flipped to a few more pages. 

_John and I shared a small kiss tonight. I believe John is ready to take the next step, and therefore, the next step in my experiment will be taken also._

And a few more pages. 

_John and I have become something more than friends...even something more than colleagues. I-I think... there was a large ink dot where Sherlock's pen waited for him to finish his thought. To keep out biases, John has been viewed as nothing more than an experiment. [John IS nothing more than an experiment]._

John felt Sherlock's foot graze his thigh. Sherlock's eyes snapped open and locked onto him. Sherlock, brain slightly fogged with sleep, tried to move away too fast, forgetting that he was on the edge of the bed. He ended up falling off, bumping the back of his head and elbow on his descent. 

Sherlock scrambled to get his sheets from around him and shot up to his feet. "John! What are you doing here?" John didn't look up at him or answer him. Sherlock looked at John, confused, before looking at what John was holding. "John?" 

"Is this all I am?" John growled angrily. "Am I nothing more than entertainment?" 

"John... it's not what you think." 

"It's not? I broke your stupid little puzzle! I read your conducted experiments... What more is there to possibly understand?" John stood up and threw the notebook at Sherlock, who quickly caught it before it could hit his face. "You've been using me since we've met! I- I've been nothing more than-" John cut himself off. It was one thing to read it, but to say it... John felt sick. He walked out of Sherlock's room. 

Sherlock trailed after John as he left. "John," he pleaded as he grabbed onto his wrist. "Please, stop." 

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" John shouted and pushed Sherlock away from him. "Don't think you have the right to touch me," he hissed. John started to pace the length of the den, leaving Sherlock waiting to explain himself. The longer the noise of silent, angry pacing stretched on, the more Sherlock started to worry. "John-" 

"Shut up, Sherlock!" John cut in before sighing. "I trusted you. I thought we were friends... colleagues... _Something!"_

Sherlock slowly walked towards John, treating him how he'd treat a wild animal. "We were-" 

"Shut _up_!" John growled in warning. Sherlock stopped where he was. "Matt, Chad, Janet..., they were all right about you, and I ignored the only people whom I trusted." Sherlock bit his lower lip. He didn't want to be yelled at again for telling John that Matt, Janet, and Chad weren't real people. "I was warned about you by almost _everyone_ , but, slowly, I started to trust you and gave you the benefit of the doubt," he said more to himself than to Sherlock. "You know how stupid this makes me feel? That I committed the same mistake twice?!" 

"John..." 

"I SAID SHUT UP!" he bellowed. John took a deep breath before continuing. "I... We... I am such an idiot. I-I actually thought..." John bit his lip, now feeling even more stupid. "I thought you actually loved me..." he said softly, frowning sadly at the floor before quickly changing his demeanor back to angry, "but that was just manipulation also." 

Sherlock walked over to John and stood in front of him. John crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive pose, not allowing Sherlock to touch him. "If anything I have told you were true, the fact that I love you was it. I wasn't manipulated by emotions or by some stupid hard-on. I do love you," Sherlock tried to stress. 

"No...you don't," John stated. "This, what you did, this wasn't love. The only one who loved anyone in this relationship... was me." 

Sherlock stared at John, shocked onto silence. "Y-you love me?" John looked down at his hands. He was tired of trying to be angry. All his anger had left and disappointment and mental exhaustion had replaced it. 

"John..." Sherlock whispered softly. 

John looked up just as Sherlock placed his lips over his. The soft touch would have been almost familiar, maybe even calming, if it were any other situation. John roughly pushed Sherlock away, causing to stumble. He fell into the couch, shocked and hurt at John's rejection. 

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" 

There was a loud slam of their front door banging off the wall. It startled both of them, bringing their attention to who was interrupting them during their argument. 

Mycroft stood in the doorway, surveying the scene before his eyes. Sherlock looked at him, shocked, while John stared at him with something akin to fear. He took a step in and moved to the side. "Please come in, gentlemen," he summoned. 

Before Sherlock could stop his brother, two men quickly stormed into the room and seized John by his arms. "John!" Sherlock shouted as he jumped up from his spot on the couch. Mycroft stepped in Sherlock's way and pushed him back. "This is for his own good," Mycroft tried to explain to him, but Sherlock wouldn't pay attention, not with John being rough handled by these two burley man. He struggled with his brother. 

John struggled, trying to get free from the two men holding his arms. He twisted and pulled his arms every which way, but their grip was too strong. "Let go of me! What do you want?!" he demanded. When he received no answer, struggled harder, kicking and trying a few moves he learned during in his time in the military. They blocked each of his advances, though, having been informed of his military training before hand. They wrestled him to the floor, subduing his hands behind his back. John looked at Sherlock helplessly. 

Sherlock wanted to help John, but couldn't do anything with his brother still holding him back. He tried to find the accurate words for the situation, but it felt as if his throat had closed up and his brain had stopped working. 

John looked at the floor. He couldn't stand to look in Sherlock's eyes. Both of the men grabbed him by his now tied arms and hoisted him to an up-right position. John continued to kick and fight as they moved towards the door. "I hate you, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you..." John cried as he was lifted and carried down stairs. He was taken outside, crying and screaming, trying to attract the attention of those around him. 

Lestrade walked around the corner to question Sherlock about their latest case when he took in the chaotic scene before him. Two large men were trying to force an unwilling and frightened looking John into the back of a van. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Detective Inspector Lestrade!" He said, flashing his badge at the two men, "What's going on here!" 

"We were given orders to escort my Watson to a secure mental facility where he will receive a mental evaluation and treatment for his condition," was all they would say about the matter. Greg would ask by whom, but they refused to answer. 

"John?! What's going on?" 

For a second, no one moved. With tears starting to stream down his face, John looked at Greg. "I was nothing but an experiment," he said softly. 

John was hoisted into the back of a padded van and the door slammed shut. John quickly balled up into the fetal position, trying to block out the world around him. How could he have been so stupid? He had taken pains to avoid this type of situation, but he was swept off his feet by Sherlock's charm and his smooth talk. He felt like an idiot. He deserved this. 

Lestrade moved to open the door to ask what he meant, but one of the men blocked his advance. A loud banging noise grabbed Greg's attention. He spun around, looking up at where the noise was coming from, and saw Sherlock banging on the window, trying to shout at the people now driving John away. 

Lestrade growled. It all made sense now. He ran inside, taking the stairs two at a time, not even stopping to entertain Ms. Hudson's questions. The door was still open from John's forced removal, so Lestrade walked right inside. 

"Where is he?" Greg growled to Mycroft. Mycroft calmly turned to the window his brother was standing by, looking at the street below. "Do you know what John just told me?!" Lestrade demanded stomping up to Sherlock and facing Sherlock towards him. "Did you really just use him as if he were some stupid animal you could poke and prod at?" When Sherlock didn't answer him, Greg growled and grabbed Sherlock by his shirt collar, "Answer me!" 

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to articulate his answer. "I- A-At first..." An unsuspecting right hook had him crumpling to the floor. 

"How dare you!" Lestrade was practically shaking, he was so livid. "The one good thing to happen to you in so long... and you just went and screwed it up!" Greg took a few deep, ragged breaths, trying to get control over his anger. When Sherlock didn't answer or try to get up, he turned away in disgust. He walked over to Mycroft, who took a step back less he be punched also. "Where is he?!" 

"He's been taken to a facility out to the country," he said quickly, "New Lives asylum." Mycroft clears his throat, readying himself to duck if Greg got any ideas. 

"I know you were involved in this," he growled lowly, getting into Mycroft's personal space, "and if I had the time, you'd be on the floor right next to your brother, but John needs an actual friend right now, since everyone else in this room is nothing worse than the murderers I take off the street." He moved towards the door, but turned back before leaving. He looked at the two brothers with disgust before turning back and heading out the door. 


	28. Welcome to My Downfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally forgot to post this chapter like i did on my other account. sorry for the long wait.

###### 

Sherlock squirmed on the floor, shocked that the DI would actually punch him. He felt a warm trickle run down his upper lip and into the floor.

John was gone. Gone, gone, gone. The last hour played on repeat in his mind. He picked out the flaws, his mistakes, the things he hadn't anticipated. It wasn't supposed to end like that at all. John was supposed to say he loved him back; supposed to fall into his arms; supposed to hold him and kiss him and cherish him like no one else. John was supposed to smile and laugh at Sherlock's antics and yell at him when he did something wrong. John should have blushed when Sherlock would snog him endlessly and seek protection in him when the world became too much. They were too broken peas in a figurative pod, trying to build a fantasy together when reality was rearing to tear it apart. He had been so stupid and careless, allowing emotions to cloud his judgment. He wished he could kick himself in his own ass.

"Sherlock?" He heard his brother call, breaking him out of his trance.

"Get out, Mycroft. You have ruined my life enough for a lifetime and now, I must ask you to take your leave." He sat up and took a handkerchief out of his gown pocket to put to his nose.

"You fail to see that this is beneficial to both of you-"

"Beneficial?" he spat with venom. "Oh yes, Mycroft, please enlighten me how forcefully committing someone and practically ruining their medical reputation is beneficial to them," he asked sarcastically, though the bite was gone due to the nasal tone.

"It was better than the alternative," Mycroft explained. "Is it no better than you poking and prodding and experimenting with him? This way, John can get the trained, professional help he needs and you can stop this childish inclination of playing with other people's lives. Who knows, he could have possibly harmed you."

"John was never a danger to me!" Sherlock defended.

"Yes, as you demonstrated as I walked in."

"He was only angry, and he was right to be angry. It was no more than a little prod."

"Yet, it all starts with a little push to throwing punches to acquiring more...deadly items. Then what, Sherlock? With you dead and John standing over you, ready to plea insanity because his flat mate made him do it? Yes, anger maybe warranted, but it should never come to physical blows."

Sherlock glared Mycroft, pointing at his nose. "How do you explain this then?"

"I use it as evidence. Some people respond properly, some result to a more barbaric form of getting their point across."

"Look, John is no more a threat to me than I am to you. Call your...buddies, or whatever your associates are, and have John released. I will have no further dealings with him if we can just drop this whole thing," he pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," though his tone said otherwise, "This is no longer about you. Though I know that statement hardly holds any truth, John needs this."

"You cannot force him to stay."

"On the contrary, brother. Though there is a statute of limitation on how long one can legally hold him, we cannot take that liberty with John. He has just proved himself to be a danger to another person. Until we can have full confidence that he is stable, he will not be released. That process takes time and tests... tests that sometimes happen to take weeks to be returned or monitoring that has to be done over an extended amount of time. Releasing him back into society without ensuring our citizen's safety would be foolish of us."

Sherlock growled and shot up. "Out! Now, Mycroft before I do something I won't regret!"

Mycroft turned and started towards the door. He started to turn back, about to say something before her was cut off.

"Shut up, Mycroft and just leave. I don't want to hear anymore of your excuses."

Mycroft sighed but did as his brother asked. He'd get over his little pout soon. He always did. He'd see John was nothing more than a play thing. If you abuse your toys, you get them taken away. That's how life worked and Sherlock was no exception.

Though, he admits, it felt different from the other times. There is something...weird going on. Sherlock never begged on behalf someone before. Had he made a mistake? Had that little delusional men actually make Sherlock care about something? Mycroft hummed. That seemed like a stretch.

Mycroft closed the front door behind him, but not before he heard the first few crashes from upstairs. He paused momentarily, wondering if he should indulge Sherlock in his tantrum, but thought better of it. He stepped onto the sleek black car and directed the driver to drive him back to his office. He had a few phone calls to make.

###### 

'This is what John deserves. I tried to warn him about Sherlock, but he allowed himself to be blinded by love.'

'How could you think of such a thing? No one deserves something like this.'

'We could have avoided this, though, if John did listen. Instead, he allowed himself to be manipulated by Sherlock. He should have known that guy was trouble from the start.'

'We didn't even know he would act like this... how was John supposed to know?'

'Why do we let this guy dominate again? He only gets into trouble.'

'If John didn't dominate, we would already be in an asylum. Plus, John's not so bad. He sometimes gets turned around a bit, but he always bounces back. Plus, the whole point of John being dominate is to help him heal himself. Remember: the main goal is for John to be complete, not in shambles. He's not supposed to need us!'

'That is utter bull and you know it. Face it, Janet, John's never going to be healed. There is no reason in trying anymore. I know it's hard to hear, but John's hopeless. He'll never be ordinary again and we might as well accept it now.'

John was lead out of the back of the van what seemed like days later. Each of his arms were held firmly by two attendants as he was lead inside a dismal looking building in the middle of the countryside. John squinted from the sun and caught the name of the building before they passed it on their way in. New Lives. That seemed cheerful. John shuttered and the hold on his arms tightened. They passed the front desk and lead him into a room that was colorless. Every surface was a plain white or cream color tone: the furniture, the wall, even the desktop screen of the computer was nothing but white.

John was forced to sit on a couch facing a chair. The two attendants took their stand on both sides and waited, watching his every move. He felt sort of self-conscience with all of their attention focused on him. He buried his head in his hands and decided to breathe. Freaking out and panicking wouldn't help his cause. Legally, how would they keep him here? There was a maximum time they could hold him before they had to release him...right? He just had to wait here and play it cool of a few a low profile and he should be out of here within a few days.

The doors swung open as a thin, pale man glided into the room. In his right hand, he held a yellow tablet underneath a thin yellow box. He sat in the chair facing John, pushing up a pair of wire-framed glasses.

"I'm doctor [Richard Bradley], he said as a way of greeting."You are here because...well, being a doctor yourself, you probably know why you're here. Mentally, you're unsound in the head. We will run tests to see if and how we can treat you. Until your release, we need to go over a few rules and guidelines with you during your stay. Breakfast is served from 07:00 till 09:30. Your sector will be lead to the cafeteria at 08:35. Before you are dismissed, we expect your bed made and your room tidy to the standards we deem fit. The same goes for lunch call at 12:00 and dinner at 19:00.

"You will go to therapy starting anywhere from 3 to 4 times a week. During your hour session with your doctor, various tests may also be taken. These can range from blood tests to written tests to determine your mental health. We will inform you the days of your treatment at a later time."

The doctor sighed longingly. "Now to discipline." He watched John tense. "If there are any problems, we intervene. If you do not listen or refuse to listen, we will have to take disciplinary action. The type of punishment is decided upon the offence. If you refuse to take your medicine, we have the tools and the means to ensure you take them. If you strike out against any of the employees, we will restrain you and send you to your room without supper. If you continue to be uncooperative, we will quarantine you, and so on. Quarantine is no visitors, no staff, -nothing. It will just be you and a straight jacket to ensure you do not harm yourself, and a padded cell. We hate amounting to that sort of cliché discipline as much as the next guy, so please, just focus on recovering and everyone will be happy."

With that said, he opened the box and took out a small yearn jar. "We must ensure you are not currently on any drugs or hormone-altering medication. The two orderlies will escort you to a room nearby where you can change your clothes and give us a sample."

He stood, looking down his nose at John, "I will be seeing you soon, Mr. Watson." With that, he left the room.


	29. No Thanks to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Few words to explain my long absence:
> 
> 25-30 page papers due every few weeks for the last 6 months. i don't think anyone would want to write anything after that.
> 
> thanks for all the continuing support and comments!

###### 

It was a month and a half before Sherlock was able to visit John in the hospital. Sherlock was the last person John wanted to see at the moment, but, much to John's dismay, he wasn't allowed to choose who he'd be able to see or not see; at least, not currently. He had been lucky enough that he hadn't been allowed to have any visitors for the first month during the transition period, but that was now over. He was still too new of a patient to make any decisions, and they were still monitoring his reactions like a hawk. John always had to be on guard, ensuring that he played by the rules until they had no choice but to release him. John noticed that they did seem to be keeping him a little longer than what he originally thought was the maximum amount of time they could legally hold him, but he had to comfort himself with the thought that, any day now, the door would open and they would inform him that he was free to leave.

Two orderlies escorted him to a table at which Sherlock was currently sitting. He didn't look at Sherlock as he sat down, nor when the two men walked over towards the door to stand among the other guards to ensure their patients didn't get too worked up or possibly violent. They sat in silence for a while, Sherlock staring at John as John stared at his hands.

As the silence dragged on, Sherlock's frown deepened. John looked lifeless and pale. They kept him in a plain white t-shirt with matching bottoms, which did nothing to highlight his natural tan features. His usually bright smile was now hidden behind frown lines as his mouth was constantly turned down from worry. His eyes seemed hollow, always subtly scanning the room around him to see if anyone was watching him. He didn't look anywhere close to being better. Sherlock tentatively reached out to grasp John's hand, craving the touch of the other man after so long, but John's hand shrank back quickly. Sherlock looked at him, surprised, but John still refused to look at him. Instead, he surveyed the men at the wall to make sure no one had seen them.

"I've heard Lestrade has come to visit you..." Sherlock stated cautiously, trying to make idle small talk. "He's been working towards your release... He's a good man." John grunted in response. Sherlock sighed in frustration and clenched his fist. "Please say something, John."

John buried his face in his hands, wishing Sherlock would just go away. He could feel his other personalities trying to break through, but he tapered the feeling down. He didn't need anyone to rescue him, at least not yet. He also needed to suppress them as much as he could while he was here, much to the dismay of his fellow personalities. It wouldn't do well if he started suffering from psychotic episodes. He didn't need Sherlock here screwing things up. "Leave me alone. I don't want you here," John said lowly. He didn't want to speak more than he had to, but he knew he'd at least say something in order to make it seem like he was cooperating with the program.

"John, I know that I am one of the last people you wanted to visit you, but I must explain-"

John's fist pounded the table, stopping Sherlock's protests and the conversations around them. John clenched his fists tighter as a few of the orderlies glanced their way. "You don't need to explain. You have done enough, so please, let me finish my time here peacefully so I can leave soon. After that, I don't want to see you ever again." John glared at the onlookers waiting for a scene to unfold. Once they caught sight of his expression, they quickly turned back to their own conversations.

"John..." Sherlock bit lip, hesitating whether or not to tell John about a flaw in his thinking.

"No, just please leave. I can't even stand to look at the man who treated me no better than an animal. Someone that swore that he loved me...only to crush my heart," he reflected sadly.

"John, please..."

"How am I to trust anyone ever again? Were all those people who told me about even people who know you or were they in on the experiment, Sherlock? How far do the lies go?" John gripped his hair, trying to ground himself. It felt like his head was spinning. For the first time since his arrival, he allowed the 'what ifs' to flood his mind. Had all they been through been false? Had Sherlock played him from the beginning? How was he to know what was truth from fiction? His grip tightened as a heavy weight of uncertainty settled in the pit of his stomach. The room felt constricting. John felt as if couldn't breathe as the impending panic attack took hold of him. He vaguely registered Sherlock clinging onto his shaking form, desperately trying to get him to calm down.

"I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you. Mycroft can't keep you here. I promise, I'll take you away from here and take you to a better place. We'll get you treatment in a more comfortable environment. I'll take you back to Baker Street where you can feel safe and won't have to worry about anyone forcing you to do anything that you don't want to. I'll make up all the stupid things I have done to you, I swear I will. Just please, John," he begged. "Please look at me."

It wasn't getting better. Instead of being able to concentrate on breathing, Sherlock's voice was distracting. Hate and rage built up the more he continued until it felt like he was going to burst. Why couldn't Sherlock just go away?

John shot out of his chair, causing it to fall back onto the floor. "Get dare try to make me promises that you know you won't keep. Get out of here. I don't want your hollow excuses and empty promises. You probably said the same thing to the last guy you got tired of and dumped in a place like this. Just leave me alone."

John fell to his knees, all strength leaving his body. He clutched his head hoping, in vain, to stop the immense pain running throughout his brain. His blood felt like it was boiling; yet, he couldn't stop the shivers running through his body. It felt like his heart was weighing heavily on his chest, preventing him from being able to breathe. John tried to get a grip on himself, but soon gave up, no longer seeing the point of fighting himself to stay in control.

As the world starts to go blur around him, John vaguely remembers a look of confusion and horror plaguing Sherlock's face. He can see Sherlock trying to get closer towards him as burly men in white try to keep him at a distance, but his effort is useless. He's being surrounded by a wall of white bodies, each shouting different things which, to whom, John is unsure. He can feel their hands- oh so many hands- grasping and pulling at him and he can't stop them, no matter how much he tried to beg. John felt a pinch in his right arm and the world seemed to tilt even more off its axis.

Maybe their situations should have been switched; the sociopath should be the one having to be sedated and taken away to the confines of his mind rather than a lonely and untrusting doctor with DID. John thought it was funny how the world was so cruel as he finally slipped under the drug's power.


End file.
